


The Muse Behind the Mask

by wishbonetea



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2020, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Canon-Typical Backgrounds, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 71,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishbonetea/pseuds/wishbonetea
Summary: Neil Josten is the Muse sent to inspire struggling artist Andrew Minyard. It's supposed to be just another assignment, another step on his ladder to freedom, but he finds himself drawn to Andrew in a way he's never been drawn to another person before. He's not meant to stay, but he doesn't know how to leave.Andrew knows what it means to be lost, abandoned, forgotten. That's why his art is the way it is. But when enigmatic Neil comes crashing into his life everything that Andrew thinks he knows turns upside down. He thought he knew what it meant to be lost, but Neil is starting to teach him what it means to be found.⁂A Xanadu AU featuring artist!Andrew, muse!Neil, roller-skating to music from the 1980s, and a scavenger hunt for a missing cat.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 92
Kudos: 214
Collections: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. STORIES WE BUILD, STORIES WE TELL

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FaiaSakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaSakura/gifts).



> Thank you to all the admins of the reverse big bang for organising this, and to [faiasakura](http://faiasakura.tumblr.com) for an incredible prompt: I had so much fun writing this and I hope I did it justice. Faia's pieces are going to be in chapters two and ten, so keep an eye out for those! Also a massive shout out to [ceri](http://klausajin.tumblr.com) for being a fantastic beta and helping me get my head around all the mythology research. I couldn't have done this without you.
> 
> There's a fair bit of coding in this so make sure you have creator's style turned on. This is the default setting so if you've never played around with workskins then there's nothing you need to change. Everything will still be readable for those downloading or using a screenreader, and if you prefer ao3's usual fic layout you just need to click "Hide creator's style" at the top.
> 
> Last thing because apparently I ramble as much in the notes as I do everywhere else: I'm uploading the whole fic in one go, but feedback is welcome at any time ~~(please)~~ and feel free to comment or message me on [tumblr](http://wishbonetea.tumblr.com) if you have any questions!

**A** ndrew watched his phone vibrate on his bedside table. The noise was irritating, but the thought of picking up was more so. He watched it vibrate until it stopped. A second later, it vibrated once again with a text alert to remind him that he had missed a call, as if that hadn’t been the point entirely.

The phone rang again, and Andrew still waited.

And waited.

After the second missed call alert, and the fifth ring of the third call, Andrew slipped his hand from under the cover and reached for his phone. He flipped it open with one hand, pressed the answer button without looking, and brought his phone to his ear.

He didn’t say anything, and the caller knew not to wait.

“And rise and shine to you, too,” Nicky grumbled, as if Andrew had ever answered their weekly phone calls promptly. “How are you? What are you doing this week? Is Kevin still being overbearing?”

“Kevin is always overbearing.”

“True. Oh, Andrew, I want your opinion on something. So, Erik’s family is visiting next week and I was thinking of making something special seeing as Ingrid cooks every time we visit. What do you think? Should I make something American or Mexican or try something German? No, I can’t make something German. She’d know it was terrible. At least if I make something Mexican she might not have tried it before. What do you think?”

“Make a cake,” Andrew suggested, which was his usual recommendation.

“You’re right. I’ll make tres leches or something. That should go fine, right?”

Andrew hummed in acknowledgement. “Hey,” Nicky said, in a soft tone that never meant anything good. “Have you spoken to Aaron recently?”

He had. Since the three of them had graduated from university, and Aaron had left for Chicago to go to med school with Katelyn, Andrew only tended to see Aaron for the holidays Nicky insisted on celebrating. They hadn’t seen each other in person without their cousin’s guiding hands, but they did call. It was neither as regular nor as scheduled as Andrew preferred his relationships, but he supposed it was nevertheless dependable. When one brother called, the other would answer.

“I’m not surprised by his inability to avoid embarrassing himself,” Andrew said, thinking of the photos of the pathetic excuse of a dog that Nicky had been blowing up the group chat with.

Nicky paused. “That’s too many double negatives this time in the morning.”

“It’s three in the afternoon for you.”

“See? You’ve already broken me.” Nicky left a gap for Andrew to reply, but he didn’t. “I think he’s cute.”

“It’s too small to be cute. It’s a rodent.”

“I said the same thing about you midget mites when you arrived on my doorstep.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. “You cried at us until we let you come home with us.”

“What can I say? I’m a master manipulator.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I’m multifaceted.”

Andrew hung up. He’d barely put his phone back in its place on his bedside table when it buzzed again. He tilted the screen to read Nicky’s texts from where his head was still pushed into his pillow.

  
**Nicky:** yeah yeah i know u love me really  
  
  
**Nicky:** same time next week??  
  
  
**Nicky:** i wanna hear about all ur new work!!!!!  
  
  
**Nicky:** when u finish something send me pics so i can show off my fave artist  
  


Andrew didn’t want to think about that. As he got up, he pointedly ignored the desk underneath the window, now used as another surface for books and the potted plants Bee insisted he kept. Instead, he grabbed the hoodie hung over the back of his chair, and pulled it on as he unlocked his bedroom door and headed into the kitchen.

As the coffee machine gurgled to life, Andrew leant against the counter with his hands shoved in his pockets, glaring at the light from the rising sun.

It wasn’t long before the peace was broken by the familiar ring of Kevin’s phone alarm.

The annoying jingle stopped, and Andrew waited.

The second alarm, coming from an analogue clock on the other side of Kevin’s bed, started to ring.

The ringing stopped, and Andrew waited.

The third alarm was a digital clock located on the other side of Kevin’s bedroom, one which Kevin had to get out of bed to turn off.

And 4, 3, 2, 1:

Crash. Bang. _“Fuck!”_

Andrew allowed his lips to twitch behind his mug, his only witness being the morning sunlight.

Kevin’s bedroom door swung open, its owner hovering in the doorway with a scowl and an accusing point. Andrew wasn’t intimidated, and it wasn’t just because Kevin could barely keep his eyes open.

“If you don’t get rid of your shit I’m going to get rid of it for you,” Kevin said, slinging his freshly laundered towel over his shoulder.

Andrew stared at him without expression for a few moments, watching him hang up the towel on the hook beside the shower. Kevin cracked open the bathroom window and Andrew lowered his mug enough to reply, “Touch my things and I’ll kill you.”

“I could trip over another box tomorrow and crack my skull open anyway.”

“And I might get some peace and quiet around here.”

“And you’d also have to cover my rent. My dad won’t let you live here for free.”

Andrew didn’t reply even though he knew it wasn’t quite true. He needed Kevin’s half of the rent—freelance copywriting could only go so far, after all—but Wymack was far too soft to throw him out. He made a terrible landlord.

Andrew tuned out Kevin’s griping about Andrew’s _things_ taking up space, and left his mug in the sink.

Kevin made an affronted noise, and strode past him to set the mug beside the sink instead. “You know, if you leave it _next_ to the sink, you don’t have to waste time emptying the sink when you wash up.”

Andrew paused in the bathroom doorway. “Oh?”

Kevin looked over his shoulder, and when he saw where Andrew was, he scowled again. “Don’t you dare—”

“Careful, dear Kevin,” Andrew said, keeping an eye on Kevin’s pace as he stormed after him. “Keep frowning like that and your face might set that way.”

He shut the door in Kevin’s face and locked it a second before Kevin tried pulling on the handle.

“Andrew! You fucking bastard!”

Andrew turned the shower on, and ran his hand over the soft texture of the clean towel. It was still warm from the heated rack in Kevin’s room.

Andrew held his hand under the spray, finding a welcoming heat, and peeled his armbands off one at a time. He didn’t spare a glance for the scars underneath; it was not a day for that kind of reflection. Instead, he took off the rest of his clothes and climbed into the tub.

He wasn’t in the shower long, but the water was still hot enough to make condensation appear on the mirror. The vague silhouette of his head and torso, skin splotched with pink, was the only discernable shape against a badly rendered mimicry of bathroom tiles. He ignored it as he dressed and brushed his teeth, and opened the bathroom door to find Kevin on the couch.

Kevin turned at the sound of Andrew coming out, scowl firmly in place once more. “You’re such an asshole.”

Andrew feigned offence. “You wound me.”

Kevin flipped him off, and turned back to the TV where the highlights of last night’s stickball game. Andrew didn’t care to learn which teams were playing and who was winning. Four years in juvie and five years of college was more than enough time dedicated to the game. There were much more interesting ways to waste his time.

Like staring at the ceiling.

Andrew had been inspecting a patch of irregular paintwork when Renee’s text came through.

  
**Renee:** I’m free at noon, if that suits you?  
  


He didn’t know why she bothered; he’d come over for lunch regardless of whether she was free. It was routine, regular, dependable. Andrew had long since memorised the journey to Renee’s secondhand bookshop: he turned left when he stepped down the three concrete stairs from his and Kevin’s apartment, crossed the road and turned right at _BACCHUS,_ and walked two blocks. He ignored the prickle at the back of his neck, that feeling of being watched, of being _seen._ Whenever Andrew turned, there was never anyone there. He’d stopped turning around several days ago.

Bordered by _Lono Records_ and _Kamrušepa Apothecary, Walker Way With a Book_ was painted a ridiculous shade of mauve, though Renee had been insistent on it. Andrew only knew because he had been the one to help her paint it. Under the bay window, Andrew and Renee had written their initials in brushstrokes against the woodgrain. It was almost unnoticeable, but Andrew still appreciated the permeance of it. As long as Renee owned the shopfront, their names would remain.

The brass bell rang when Andrew opened the door. Renee was talking to a customer, the smile on her face as cheerful as it was genuine. She still glanced over and offered a different sort of smile to Andrew: one filled with warmth and affection. Andrew looked away and made his way to his usual table.

The armchair Andrew chose—the one he always chose—was made of a deep green leather, a shade between peacock and pine. He didn’t think it was designed to be high-backed, but for Andrew it was. He preferred to face the rest of the shop, with only the wall at his back, but if he were to spin it around, he wouldn’t have to slump down to hide his frame.

Andrew scanned the titles of the bookcase beside him, many dog-eared with creased spines and fraying edges. A few came with Renee’s personal review afixed on brown paper labels like old postage tags. Andrew selected one at random and examined the cover.

“It’s good,” Renee said, hovering by the chair opposite him. Andrew hadn’t heard her come over, but he’s used to that now. Renee was the only person who could ever sneak up on him, and he trusted her more than most people in his life despite that. Maybe because of that. Renee had every opportunity to overpower him but she never would.

“May I join you?” Renee asked, tray in hand with a ceramic teapot and two mugs.

Andrew gestured to the empty chair with an impatient flick of his hand, and ignored her as she sat down in favour of the book. He flicked the label over to read as she set down the tray and poured the tea. Andrew’s next intake of breath was full of cinnamon.

“I think you’d enjoy it,” Renee said.

Andrew nodded, and set the book down on the table between them.

“So,” Renee started, holding her mug close to her face to breathe in the steam. “The sea has flooded the earth, and only a few scattered islands remain. How do you plan to survive?”

“I would anchor a floating house in the doldrums,” Andrew said. “Or a lighthouse.”

Renee hummed, imagining it. “Lots of cable-knit sweaters and fingerless gloves.”

She had a point, but he wouldn’t agree with her that vocally. “I don’t want to get in the middle of people fighting over a patch of grass.”

“A patch of grass could feed your family,” Renee pointed out.

Andrew considered how long he, Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin could live off fish. “Would you have a patch of grass?”

“I would try. A communal garden would be nice.”

“Then you could make monthly trips and send us rations.”

Renee laughed. “Why the doldrums?”

Andrew shrugged. “Hot weather.”

“No wind, though.”

Andrew ignored her. He hadn’t told her that he found the wind grounding at times, the act of physical _feeling_ without _touch._ His attention flickered to the empty wall behind Renee. Every other wallspace was filled with shelves of books or frames of paintings and photographs. Renee’s bookshop wasn’t known for minimalism; a blank wall space was an oddity. Renee turned in her armchair to follow his gaze.

“Has anything changed?” she asked, turning back to him.

“No,” he said, because of course it hadn’t. Nothing Andrew did seemed to change anything. No matter how many books he read, how many documentaries he watched, how many podcasts he listened to, Andrew hadn’t been able to create a piece of artwork for two years.

During his final year of university, Andrew had found his niche: telling the stories of lost and discarded objects. It had been something Bee suggested; he told her that he found his criminology classes interesting but sometimes triggering, losing sleep from one too many nightmares. Art had been a way to take his mind off his classes and case studies, a part-time hobby that he started taking classes in by the end of his third year at PSU.

Andrew’s collection of lost objects varied as much as the methods he presented them. Some, he photographed, their fictional history handwritten on the white border between image and frame. Others, he presented as an object, their stories affixed onto captions below.

In _Walker Way With a Book,_ Andrew’s lost objects found their homes in books. These books were lost too, faded with age and falling to pieces. He had to unbind the pages, and tell the stories between existing words. The text held two tales in their alternating fonts; one from the original print, the other from Andrew’s typewriter.

He would cut-out shelves from the pages using a scalpel as sharp as the knives he used to carry in his armbands, and place the objects within. Those books would find their home in Renee’s bookshop, hung from the ceiling at various heights for her customers to peruse. They didn’t tend to last long; both the objects and books were discarded waste so the production cost wasn’t hard to cover. Andrew priced the pieces as he saw necessary, and didn’t care to make a profit.

Bee once suggested that Andrew cared more about finding homes for those lost objects more than making a living from his art. Andrew just didn’t see the point in charging people for something he would do regardless of their attention. His process of making work was something routine, regular, dependable.

But not anymore.

Andrew still collected the objects discarded on park benches, left unclaimed in lost-property, and thrown away in skips on moving day. The things no-one wanted anymore or didn’t care to find again.

Andrew had once found them, cared for them with hands he never thought could be delicate. He’d paid attention to them, analysed their intricacies and oddities.

Now they lived in cardboard boxes scattered around Andrew’s apartment. Claimed, but not found.

On the bad days it felt worse than if he had just left them where he found them.

* * *

**A** bram hated the white leather chairs of _Moriyama Muses._ They creaked everytime he fidgeted, amplifying his anxiety. He tried to stay as still as possible, though he still caught himself picking at the fraying whole in his jeans. He should have worn something else, but it wasn’t like they warned him about the impromptu meeting. He supposed that it wouldn’t be long until he’d be in different clothes anyway.

Abram preferred clothes in shades of grey, but Abram hadn’t been able to be himself for thirteen years.

Alex had been a riot of colours, ‘spontaneously’ catching buses to nowhere, breaking into museums at midnight, joining a circus for a weekend. His assigned painter ran after him but was never able to catch him. She didn’t need to, in the end.

Stefan had dressed exclusively in layers of denim, the next ‘big thing’ for his assigned photographer to fixate on for the month of his contract.

Chris wore tailored shirts and tweed jackets, wire-framed glasses perched on his nose. Chris had been interested in everything the way Abram was only interested in Exy, his passion all-consuming. Chris had sparked inspiration in his assigned poet, just as he had been taught to.

Abram had taken twenty-one names, and performed twenty-one personalities.

 _Who would be the next on his list?_

Abram drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. It earned the glare of Ichirou’s assistant, but she was tapping away at her keyboard with fingernails painted red, so Abram only ignored her and continued to fidget. He should have accepted the glass of water. His throat was dry and his lips were chapped. He licked them and dragged his top teeth along his bottom lip, knowing that it wouldn’t help but needing something to relieve the itch. They dried quickly and there was no balm for regret.

Thankfully, Ichirou didn’t let him stew in it for long; the phone rang only a few moments later.

“Yes, sir,” the assistant said, and turned to Abram as she put the receiver down. “Lord Moriyama is ready to see you now.”

Abram nodded and rose from his chair. He pushed it back accidentally, and it scraped along the smooth floors with a grating sound. Abram winced, but didn’t make eye contact with the assistant on his way to Ichirou’s office door. He looked at her desk instead, noting the pot of identical white pencils with _MORIYAMA MUSES_ embossed in gold.

Abram opened the door, and hoped his clammy hands wouldn’t leave a smudge on the door handle. But this was the wrong industry to be in if you were looking for hope. _Moriyama Muses_ was funded by desperation.

Ichirou Moriyama was sitting at his desk. His silk black suit spoke of excessive wealth, but as did the decor of his company headquarters. It wasn’t merely pretension, either. While most companies came and went with the ages, the Moriyamas were always more than their money. They were gods among men.

Literally.

Abram’s mother had always warned him about the mythologies of the world, but they were more than legends and pinnacles of faith; they were real. Centuries had stripped them of their power, but they would never die; time was insignificant for immortals. Instead, they adapted to modern nature, hiding in plain sight. The Moriyamas weren’t the only gods of their kind, but they were among the most successful. Abram didn’t have the clearance to know how their business was conducted; he was given assignments and contracts but he certainly wasn’t to ask questions.

Abram hovered by the doorway, awaiting instruction. Ichirou flicked two fingers in silent command, and Abram stepped forward, taking the seat opposite. He paid particular attention to avoid scraping it along the marble floor, and once seated, he fixed his stare on Ichirou’s shoulder. There wasn’t a speck of lint on his suit, as if even dust quivered before him. This was a man who could hold existence itself in check with a glance, a man who’d been created to rule. He was the Moriyamas’ power in eternal form, and he sat alone and untouchable on his throne of marble and gold.

Abram waited for Ichirou to speak, and every second that ticked by felt like a countdown to termination.

“Nathaniel Wesninski,” Ichirou said at length. It was only exposure and practice that Abram didn’t flinch at the name.

“Yes, my Lord,” Abram said.

Ichirou lifted the file on his desk and turned over the cover. He didn’t read it, merely scanning the contents, probably because he knew every word written within. He closed it again before Abram could discern anything himself.

Ichirou placed his hands together, palm to palm, and touched his chin with the tips of his fingers. It seemed less like prayer than it was an expression of calculation. “I believe I already told you that I like to know the value of things before I throw them away.”

Abram nodded. “So you knew how to compensate for their loss,” he said. It felt like mockery, to refer to Nathaniel’s plea for help.

 _“I have no value now,”_ Ichirou quoted, _“but if given the time and chance to do so I would repay your family for the inconveniences caused._ It was an unsubtle attempt to buy for your safety.”

“It was an opportunity that I am still grateful for.”

“Grateful,” Ichirou echoed, but he didn’t say anything more. Abram didn’t take it as an invitation for his own commentary. Ichirou tapped a finger on the cover of the file. “This says that you have completed one hundred and fifty-eight assignments within seven years.”

He didn’t offer his opinion on the matter, but Abram knew that it was an unusually high number. Muses didn’t tend to take more than eight assignments a year. “I didn’t want to prolong the inconvenience for longer than necessary.”

“When you signed a contract with me you were no longer an inconvenience. You were an employee.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Abram said, though if someone asked what he was thankful for, he wouldn’t be able to say.

Another endless silence followed. A day or week or year passed before Ichirou slid the file over to Abram, spinning it as he did so Abram could see the embossed logo of the company, a minimalist rendering of a forest covered mountain. Abram took the file and held it on his lap with careful fingers until Ichirou dismissed him. His heart pounded in his chest on his way out, and he shut Ichirou’s office door behind him, releasing a breath of relief. The assistant ignored him, and Abram ignored her. He followed the hallway down to the elevator, the doors already open for him. Abram tucked his assignment file under his arm as he waited for the pristine white doors to close. His reflection looked as exhausted as he felt.

When the doors opened again on the tenth floor, someone grabbed Abram’s wrist and dragged him out.

“Oh thank god you’re not dead,” Matt said, pulling him into a tight hug. Abram felt dwarfed in his arms, but the smell of shea butter was comforting.

“You’re going to kill him yourself if you don’t let him breathe,” Dan said from Matt’s side, though when Matt let Abram go, Dan only pulled him into an even tighter hold. “Glad you’re okay, kid.”

Abram managed to get a hand free enough to tap her on the arm. She released him from, though only to hold him at arm’s length.

“So, who’d you get?”

Before he had the chance to answer, the file was tugged out from under his arm and Allison pushed past him, flipping over the cover to examine its contents. Abram made a grab for it, but she held it out of his reach: an easy feat when she was nearly a foot taller than him and wearing six-inch high heels.

“He could be cute, I guess,” she said, pursing her lips as she assessed Abram’s new assigned artist.

“We’re not supposed to date them,” Dan said, standing on her desk to snatch the file from Allison’s hands.

 _“We’re not supposed to date them,”_ Allison mimicked. Dan stuck her tongue out as she climbed down, but Allison ignored her and turned her focus back to Abram. “Should be an easy one. All you have to do is be all broody and mysterious like you are with us, and he’ll be back to painting dead stuff in no time.”

“Nuh-uh,” Dan said, not looking up from the file. “Not a painter. He’s a—” she made air quotes with her fingers, “—‘curator of lost objects’.”

“So he steals stuff other people made and puts his name on it?” Matt asked, leaning over Dan’s shoulder to read. “Cop out.”

Abram snagged the file from Dan’s hands and held it to his chest. “Good thing he’s not yours then.”

Matt held his hands up in submission. “Okay, okay,” he said, then turned to Allison. “Fifty bucks says he’ll only take a week.”

Allison pointed a finger at him. “I’ll take that. I reckon it’ll take more than that to convince that fucker to leave his coffin.”

“I don’t sleep in a coffin,” Abram said.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Allison said in a saccharine tone. “A coffin would be an upgrade from your apartment. Have you even got a bed frame yet?”

Abram thought about the bare mattress lying in the corner of his otherwise empty bedroom. “Yes.”

“Liar.”

Abram ignored her and looked down to the first page in his assignment file. A photograph was attached with a gold paperclip, showing a man in his early twenties with pale blond hair and multiple black ear piercings. The photograph was in the same style as those used in passports and other official documents. Knowing the Moriyamas’ power and reach, this photograph was used in a passport. Behind the passport photograph was one taken from a distance. It showed a street empty of pedestrians bar one notable exception: a short man in a black overcoat walking passed a vinyl records shop.

Abram slipped off the paperclip and moved the photographs aside to reveal his assignment’s name hidden beneath.

ANDREW MINYARD

Pronouns: he/him  
Age: 24yrs, 4mths  
Height: 5’.0”  


Andrew’s art discipline _did_ include found materials, but it was more than what Matt thought. The following six pages were images of Andrew’s pieces, spanning from photography to sculpture to installations. It was repurposing lost objects, giving them homes and histories. It tugged at something deep in Abram’s chest, but he didn’t know what. He didn’t let himself dwell on it either, and flipped over to the next page.

It felt like a cruel joke. Beside his name was an edited photograph of Abram. In his other assignments, Alex had dark hair and brown eyes; Chris had blonde hair and grey eyes.

Neil Josten had auburn hair and blue eyes.

The same shades of auburn and blue that Abram kept hidden under dye and contacts.

It made Abram hate Andrew Minyard just a little bit, for his subconscious art block to need someone who looked like everything Abram had left behind.

Flicking through the following pages, Abram found out exactly who Neil Josten was supposed to be. He sneaked glances over to Allison, the one most likely to pull this kind of joke. Neil Josten was more than just similar to Abram, it was bordering on suspicious. It took a thorough read-through to find the notable differences between Abram and his persona-to-be.

Neil Josten hates sports and loves sweets.

Neil Josten knows how to dress fashionably, albeit exclusively in shades of black.

Neil Josten is not a liar.

The first wouldn’t be enjoyable, but it was manageable. The second Abram needed help with. He ignored the third. It was unavoidable.

“Allison?”

“Let me guess,” she said, examining her nails from where she was perched on her own desk. “He needs you to be pretty.”

 _Pretty_ wasn’t the word Abram would have gone for, but he did need her help. His hesitancy to answer made her look up. She arched an eyebrow and nodded to the file in Abram’s hands. He turned it over so she could see the photograph of what Abram was supposed to look like for the duration of this assignment.

“Oh, he _is_ pretty.”

 _“He_ needs clothes.”

Allison uncrossed her legs and pulled her coat off the back of her chair in one fluid movement. She snapped her fingers at him when he didn’t immediately follow. They stepped into the elevator together, and Allison pressed for the seventh floor. She held her hand out for the file. There was no point in fighting her; Allison had once managed to make him ask _Ichirou_ for showers in the Muses’ bathroom because she was so sick of seeing him show up to work sweaty from his run to the office.

She pursed her lips as she read, her opinions as clear on her face as they were on her tongue. “Black is _not_ an inspiring colour.”

After some of the wardrobes he had to inhabit for assignments, Abram was more than happy with black.

The elevator doors opened to another white hallway, though it was dotted through with doorways to colour. Allison led him through the clothing department, selecting pieces from wheeled rails as they were pushed through the hallway by staff. She tossed several at Abram, and all he could do was catch them before they fell to the ground. They were moving too fast for him to stop and examine what she was picking out for him.

Eventually they made their way to the dressing rooms, and Allison pulled open the heavy curtain of one and pushed Abram inside. “If you don’t like anything, toss it. If it doesn’t fit, give me a shout.” She pulled the curtains shut again, and they swayed in her wake.

Abram started hanging everything onto the multiple gold hooks. Allison had chosen jeans and t-shirts, sweaters and shoes, and a woollen cardigan that Abram already knew he’d keep. Everything was black, and it was stark against the pristine white of the changing room wall.

After trying everything on, only a pair of jeans needed switching to a different size. They were all tight fitting, but this pair in particular threatened to tear at the seams when he tried to tug them over his thighs. Abram kept the cardigan on as they checked everything out at the end. Allison signed her name under the agreement to bring them back when they were done.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in admin today?” Allison asked as Alvarez folded Abram’s new clothes.

“I’m thinking of taking some time off,” Alvarez said, “so they wanted me to cover Paris while he’s trained in referrals.” They turned to Abram. “Are you keeping anything after this?”

“Just this,” Abram said, tugging at the collar of the cardigan.

“Sure thing.” Alvarez wrote down the item code.

Allison waved them goodbye as she gave Abram a gentle push in the direction of the exit and pushed the bag of clothes into his arms. He followed her back to the elevator.

Abram watched the doors close on them, and they went up to the ninth floor. The doors opened to reveal the bustling hair and makeup department. Abram sighed internally, but it wasn’t anything he could put off.

Allison took the lead again, and scooped up bottles and products as she directed him to a row of leather chairs—thankfully _not_ in white—facing huge mirrors. She pushed Abram into a chair and tugged a black robe around his shoulders.

Abram started setting the bottles on the shelf in front of him as Allison rummaged around for a pair of gloves in the top drawer. Someone Abram didn’t know gestured to the stack of rubber gloves a few feet away, but Allison waved them off.

Then she found the pair she was looking for. They had been exposed to so many layers of dye that only the wrists were the original shade of white. Allison pulled them on carefully and flexed her fingers. They weren’t designed for her own comfort or ease of use; the fingertips were unnaturally heavy from the padding stuffed within, but they masked the feeling of nails scratching at Abram’s scalp that reminded him too much of Lola.

The gloves were of Allison’s invention, and Abram thought of them every time someone made a comment about her supposed ‘cattiness’.

She held out a gloved hand. “Vaseline.”

Abram handed it over, and Allison applied a thick layer of clear balm around Abram’s hairline. “What’s your name?” she asked.

It wasn’t a question for Abram. “Neil Josten,” he said.

She started mixing something in a black plastic bowl, and Abram grimaced at the strong smell of sulfur. “And what do you do, Neil?”

“Anything that pays in cash under the table. At the moment I sell ice-cream.”

Abram felt Allison part his hair and clip pieces in place before she started layering on the mixture in small strokes. “Oh, really?” she asked. “What’s your favourite flavour?”

Abram felt his teeth ache as he answered. “Double chocolate fudge with salted caramel sauce.”

Allison’s dark eyes lit up with mirth. “We should get a scoop sometime.” Abram flipped her off and she pointed a finger at him. A blob of something blue threatened to drop off onto Abram’s shoulder, but she put her hands back to his hair before it had the chance. “That’s an Abram reaction. What would Neil do?”

“Flip you off, too,” Abram said. “Neil Josten is a loud-mouthed instigator.”

“I can’t wait to see this,” Allison said with a grin, and then set up the alien-looking machine that applied hot air to Abram’s hair.

“I don’t think Andrew does much in the presence of strangers.”

Allison waved a hand dismissively, and this time a splatter of the next mixture hit the mirror. “I’ll read your assignment notes after, then. What’s your plan?”

Abram thought about what he had found within the pages of his assignment file. Andrew’s work relied on chance but his life was dictated by strict routine. Abram knew that for Andrew to get out of his art block, he needed to offer Andrew a way out that Andrew couldn’t find within his routines. He needed something new, something different.

Allison turned off the machine and led him to the sinks to rinse out his hair. She peppered him with more questions as she put product after product in his hair, styling it with something sticky when she brought him back to the vanity, but didn’t comment when he couldn’t meet his reflection in the mirror. Instead she untied and tossed the robe into a bin for washing, and stepped aside as he pushed the chair back to stand up.

“Are you ready?” Allison asked.

He looked at her, and nodded once. “Yeah. I think I am,” Neil said.


	2. AN ABNORMAL DAY

**A** ndrew stepped inside _Afterlife Antiques_ and decided that any respect he had for himself was left outside on the doorstep. He couldn’t believe he’d stooped this low.

As a rule, Andrew _found_ the lost objects and their forgotten stories; he was just the medium the stories wrote themselves through.

An antiques shop felt like cheating; the objects here had their histories labeled. The only justification was that this antique shop in particular wasn’t filled with high-brow furniture, containing more junk than anything of value. The inventory seemed to change every time Andrew walked past, one day stocking a shop’s worth of items that looked like they’d been taken from some old man’s cottage, and the following morning, seemingly valuable crockery sets were shelved alongside original portraits of a wealthy heiress. A few days ago, Andrew had walked past and peered in the window to find rows upon rows of stuffed toys, boxed puzzles, and used _get well soon_ cards.

The owner, someone of indeterminable gender or age, was an oddity too. They were a strange sort of person that even Andrew felt uncomfortable around. He couldn’t ever seem to look at them for long, before putting an aisle of teapots between himself and the owner. They seemed to simultaneously wear a checkered tweed waistcoat and corduroy trousers, and a black cloak with an oversized hood pulled over their head. Andrew was certain that he’d seen a long braid of white hair, but every time he’d tried to catch a glimpse, it was tucked away or just out of sight.

Andrew picked up a snowglobe and tipped it upside down. Glitter cascaded down into the dome of the globe, and over the pink castle inside when Andrew tipped it the right way up again. It was probably the ugliest snowglobe Andrew had ever seen, and definitely the tackiest. Nicky would love it.

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” someone said from behind Andrew.

Andrew turned around, agitated at the discovery of someone other than Renee able to sneak up on him, but he found the aisle empty.

“I mean, seriously?” the disembodied voice continued, and it took Andrew a second to realise that 1) the voice was coming from the next aisle over, and 2) the owner of the voice wasn’t talking to him. Andrew turned back around, feeling foolish for his paranoia. He cycled through Bee’s suggestions for challenging those thoughts: _What would Renee say? Is there any evidence for my suspicions that can’t be questioned? Is it likely that I would be singled out above everyone else?_

“Hey. Hey? Man in black?”

Andrew glanced over again, ready to berate himself when he inevitably saw nothing and no-one, but this time Andrew met the blue-eyed gaze of a stranger leaning over a tall bookcase acting as an aisle divider.

“What.” Andrew didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Don’t you think this is the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen?”

Andrew’s attention shifted to the garden gnome in the stranger’s hand. It was indeed, very ugly. Andrew considered ignoring him, but the stranger was handsome and Roland was out of town for the next few weeks. Andrew looked back to the stranger and lifted up Nicky’s snowglobe. “This is uglier.”

The stranger grinned. “Yeah, you’re right.” He looked down for a brief moment, and a second later he’d dropped down far enough to be hidden by the bookcase.

Andrew took his disappearance as dismissal, and turned back to the row of miscellaneous junk in front of him. He heard footsteps coming from the left of him, and Andrew glanced over to find out that the stranger was barely three inches taller than him.

He held up a pair of faded red roller-blades. “What do you think?”

“I think that there are more interesting things to do in this city than ask strangers for their opinions on worthless pieces of junk.”

To his surprise, the man laughed, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. Andrew was more distracted by his smile than the thin scars lining one cheek. “What would you suggest instead? Fancy trying them out?”

It was fair to say that on a normal day, Andrew would never consider such a ridiculous idea. But it was also fair to say that on a normal day, Andrew wouldn’t find himself in an antique shop looking for inspiration, or feel a spark of interest because of an attractive stranger.

But it was so far an abnormal day, so Andrew did what he would never normally do.

He said yes.

* * *

**N** eil was surprised by how easy it was to get Andrew to agree to spend time with him. From what Neil gathered from his file—safely locked away in his desk drawer, as leaving it out for an assigned artist to find was a rookie mistake Neil had never made—Andrew Minyard did _not_ go out of his way to socialise outside of the social circle he built for himself at university.

Neil hadn’t memorised Andrew’s background, in case he let it slip that he knew something that Andrew hadn’t told him, but he remembered that there was a twin brother, a cousin, and two friends. Neil was pretty sure one of them was his girlfriend, and the other Neil would have recognised without the help of two two-page spread on Andrew’s relationships.

If Neil knew that Andrew Minyard lived with Kevin Day, he might have passed off this assignment to another Muse. He might also have made sure another Muse _couldn’t_ take it, in the hopes of seeing Kevin again. Neil hadn’t seen Kevin in thirteen years, but he wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d ever be ready to see him again. Some doors had to stay closed; Neil’s life depended on it.

It was why Neil threw out the pages of Exy magazine spreads from his binder, stopped keeping tabs on his life. Neil knew that Kevin had been injured, but he hadn’t let himself look into it further.

Neil wasn’t sure whether he’d get the chance to meet Kevin, but he wouldn’t hang around waiting for it. He’d get Andrew’s file stamped COMPLETE and move onto the next as soon as he was allowed. Every subsequent assignment was another step closer to freedom.

Even though Neil was the one who knew the way to _The Foxhole Court,_ the local roller-disco, Andrew reached the door first and didn’t hold it open for Neil when he stepped inside. Neil followed behind him, and was greeted by the vocals of Jeff Lynne.

Every beat and lyric described Neil’s time on the road with his mother, driving from city to city, country to country. Neil didn’t remember every city he had been in, let alone the countless cars used between, but he vividly remembered driving a Ford Escort, _Don’t Walk Away_ playing on the radio, with his mother dying in the passenger seat.

Neil wasn’t prepared for the warring revulsion and comfort at hearing that same track, and it sent a shudder down his spine. He thought he’d masked it, but he’d still hesitated too long in the doorway. He saw Andrew looking at him, though Neil couldn’t read anything from his blank expression and intense stare. Neil met his eyes for a moment, exhaled, and stepped past him.

 _The Foxhole Court_ was the only roller-disco in a twenty-mile radius, notorious for its foul-tasting food, but surprisingly good ice-cream. Neil tuned out the music as he headed towards the counter, Andrew trailing behind.

The server turned at the sound of company. “Hi, what can I get you today?” Matt asked.

Neil thought he looked ridiculous in the orange uniform, but he kept it to himself and glanced over to Andrew, who was eyeing the ice-cream. Neil couldn’t tell if it was suspicion in his gaze, or hunger.

“Two bowls of double chocolate fudge with salted caramel sauce,” Neil said, drawing Andrew’s attention. Meeting Andrew’s gaze was less like staring at the sun as it was having the sun staring back. Neil looked away first, but not immediately.

Matt gave him a grin when he placed the plastic bowls onto the counter. Neil took them both and led Andrew to one of the tables. It was unbalanced and the chairs were uncomfortable but Neil doubted that any of the other seating areas would be any different.

“You didn’t pay,” Andrew pointed out as he dragged out the chair opposite Neil and sat down.

Neil glanced at Matt over at the ice-cream counter. He was holding the sweeping brush and singing along to the music using its handle like one of those old-time microphones. Neil didn’t blame him for forgetting to charge Neil for the ice-cream: Matt was only here because Neil had asked him to masquerade as a member of staff. Neil should have remembered that paying for goods was the norm in the normal, non-mythical, world. He’d kick himself if it would give him a better excuse than the one he had to offer:

“Staff get free ice-cream.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. It was the most expressive Neil had seen him so far. “You work here?”

“Sometimes.”

Andrew didn’t call Neil out on his vagueness, and turned his attention to his ice-cream. He took a bite, and paused before swallowing. He stared at the bowl a beat too long.

“It’s good, right?” Neil asked, as if it wasn’t far too sweet and didn’t make him feel sticky all over.

“It’s okay,” was all Andrew said, though he made sure to scrape out every last bit with the side of his plastic spoon.

Neil set aside his own bowl, and nodded toward the rink. It was empty, since the two of them were the only people inside, excluding Matt, and the polished wood and colourful lights were inviting. “Shall we?”

Andrew followed his gaze. “No.”

Neil wasn’t bothered by the rejection, though he was surprised that Andrew had agreed to come if he didn’t want to skate. Especially since Andrew seemed surprised by how good the ice-cream was. He said as much, but Andrew ignored the question and instead asked Neil, “What was it earlier that had you looking like you were seconds away from running off?”

Neil forced himself to sit still. These stainless steel chairs were as inconspicuous as the white leather armchairs at _Moriyama Muses._ “What?”

“You had that look in your eye that said you knew every exit to this place, up to and including crawling out of bathroom windows. What spooked you?”

“The song,” Neil said eventually. “It reminded me of my mother.”

“Dead?”

Neil was surprised by how casually Andrew asked, but then he remembered that Andrew’s mother had died in a car accident and Andrew had been in the passenger seat. Perhaps that close-call was the reason for Andrew’s blasé attitude toward mortality.

“Yes,” Neil said. He considered for a second before elaborating, “Car accident.”

Neil expected some kind of reaction. Perhaps nothing elaborate since Andrew didn’t come across as the expressive kind, but at least _something._ Shared pain was one of the easiest ways to form a connection with someone, and it was human connection that was the most successful methods of inspiration.

It was a tried and tested method but Andrew’s face revealed nothing. If anything, he appeared bored by the turn of conversation. “Roller-blading is one of the most inefficient ways of transport.”

It took Neil a second to catch up. “I don’t think anyone does it for efficiency. They do it because it’s fun.”

Andrew shrugged with one shoulder, but otherwise didn’t respond.

“What do you do for fun?” Neil asked.

Again, Andrew didn’t answer immediately. Neil got the impression that Andrew was very careful with his words, considering his answers before speaking. “I like to read.”

“Yeah?” Neil tried to smile in encouragement, but smiling was always Matt’s strong suit. “What’s your favourite book?”

“I’m not five years old. I don’t have a favourite.”

Neil childishly stuck his tongue out. “Well, _my_ favourite is _American Hippo._ Thank you for asking.” Neil had never read Sarah Gailey’s _American Hippo,_ but he had found a glowing review online, which seemed to nod to things Andrew might appreciate. He hoped Andrew didn’t ask too many follow-up questions, but he knew he could improvise if he needed to.

“Why do you work here?” Andrew asked.

“It has the best ice-cream in the city.” Andrew seemed to accept that easier than Neil’s other answers. “What do you do?”

Andrew’s expression shifted minutely again as his lips twitched downwards and his eyebrows pinched together. “I’m an artist.”

Neil affected surprise. “That’s cool. What kind of art do you make?”

“I don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Andrew glared at the empty bowl before him, as if he could will it to fill up again. Neil considered taking it back to Matt for another portion, but he didn’t want to offer Andrew a distraction. The first step of inspiring was always to figure out how the assignment felt about their art block, and you couldn’t procrastinate yourself into creativity.

Andrew ignored the question. “How does a man who sometimes works at a roller-disco end up in an antiques shop on a Monday afternoon?”

Neil was glad that his persona was supposed to be as difficult as he was, because he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I walked there.”

Andrew just stared at him, looking neither amused nor annoyed. “I haven’t made anything in two years.”

Andrew pushed his empty bowl aside and the plastic spoon threatened to tip it over, but they balanced out eventually. Neil hoped he could do the same for Andrew. He was used to hearing his assignments talking about their art blocks, but they always blamed the world. Andrew seemed to blame himself.

“Can I see some of your work?” Neil asked, hesitantly. Andrew looked up, and stared at him without expression. Neil backtracked. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I get it if it’s too personal or—”

“Do you have a phone on you?” Andrew interrupted.

“Uh, yeah?” Neil took out his old flip phone—one he’d been forced to buy when he joined the Muses—and set it down on the table within Andrew’s reach.

Andrew shook his head. “I meant a smartphone. With Instagram.”

“Oh.” Neil snatched his phone back and put it away. “No, I don’t use social media.” How could he? He changed his entire personality every few months, and Neil didn’t have anything to share anyway. “Wait. Why can’t you show me on your phone?”

Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone. It was exactly the same as Neil’s model, only in black to Neil’s grey. “Nicky runs my Instagram.”

Neil recognised the name, but he couldn’t remember if that was the cousin or the brother. “Nicky?”

“My cousin.”

Neil paused, for a moment reflecting on how his ‘family’ consisted of dead parents and an uncle on the other side of the Atlantic. Neil didn’t know much about his uncle Stuart, but he knew enough not to mess around with a family powerful enough to hide the secrets of British monarchies long considered lost.

“What’s it like?” Neil asked, then, when he realised Andrew couldn’t follow his train of thought, he clarified: “Having a family, I mean.”

“It’s not your turn,” Andrew said.

Neil frowned, and it took a moment for him to understand what Andrew meant. When he did, he leaned back in his seat with exasperation. “Conversations don’t always have to feel like pulling teeth,” he said. “You could just talk without having to keep score. If my question made you uncomfortable, just say so.”

At that, Andrew mirrored Neil’s posture: leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. The posture emphasised Andrew’s biceps, whereas Neil just looked like a petulant teenager throwing a tantrum.

“It’s not your turn,” Andrew repeated.

Neil waved his hand at Andrew in a sign to continue. “So take yours.”

Andrew didn’t answer, and instead stood up. Neil stayed seated and watched in curiosity as Andrew picked up their two ice-cream bowls and took them back to the food counter. Matt was in the middle of another dance routine, though Neil didn’t know the song. He startled when he saw Andrew standing behind the counter, likely without expression.

Neil couldn’t hear their conversation over the music, but Matt nodded at whatever Andrew said and filled up one of the bowls with something chocolatey. The second bowl, he paused at, before sidestepping and filling it with something yellow. He placed the second bowl on the counter with trepidation. Neil assumed Andrew had said something, though Neil couldn’t see his face, because Matt just pushed both bowls further across the counter, and gestured at Neil.

When Andrew turned and made his way back to the table, he set a bowl of lemon sorbet in front of Neil. “He said you’d prefer this.”

“Matt thinks he’s funny,” Neil said, which wasn’t a lie.

Andrew sat back down, and tucked into his own bowl of something achingly sweet. Neil found the sour tang of lemon considerably more refreshing, though he didn’t have long to enjoy it before Andrew’s next question turned the lemon to ash as it melted on his tongue.

“What happened to your family?”

Neil allowed hesitancy to add a touch of realism to his lies. “My mom died in a car accident,” he started, and even though it wasn’t the truth, the next words felt heavy in his mouth. “My dad was a gopher for a gang in Arizona, and was executed for skimming from payments.”

Andrew nodded, and didn’t seem shocked or pitying at Neil’s past. Then again, Andrew rarely seemed like _anything._ Neil didn’t want to think about what Andrew had to go through to mask his emotions like that.

“I was a foster kid,” Andrew said, drawing Neil out of his thoughts. “Thirteen houses, all in California.”

“Were any of them good?” Neil asked.

“None that I can remember,” Andrew said, but he didn’t elaborate.

Neil didn’t know what ‘not good’ meant to Andrew, but he didn’t think it was fair to ask when Neil had been through his own version of hell. “So how does Nicky fit into that?”

Andrew used his spoon to mix his ice-cream into a syrupy mess. “My brother found out about me when we were thirteen. I moved in with him and his mother when I was sixteen. Nicky is my biological cousin.”

Neil wondered what took him so long, if his foster homes weren’t something Andrew would stick around for. It wasn’t his turn though, so he didn’t ask.

“What are you afraid of?”

 _Knives,_ Neil thought, before he had fully caught up with the change in conversation. He didn’t say that, though. He thought of the most irrational fear he could within a second and said, “Tea bags. Specifically used ones.”

Andrew blinked. “You have issues.”

“Because you don’t fear anything, do you? Nothing gets to you. Nothing gets under your skin.”

“He catches on at last.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Heights.”

Neil squinted, considering whether to call his bluff or not, but then nodded. “Your turn.”

They continued their game of secrets, and Neil found himself telling Andrew things about himself that he’d never told anyone else. It was somehow easier to know that whatever truths Neil laid bare, Andrew stayed expressionless and uncaring. It made him realise how smothering the other Muses could be, though he knew it wasn’t their fault: they just hadn’t been through what Neil had.

For a brief moment, Neil wondered what it would be like to have Andrew as a friend, someone he could talk to and share everything with, but it was as fleeting as it was fantastical. Andrew wasn’t his friend; he was his assignment.

So Neil pushed his loneliness aside and focused on the task at hand. Another question danced on the tip of his tongue, but when he opened his mouth another voice spoke up from behind him.

“Hey, Neil?” Neil turned to see Matt, the sweeping brush exchanged for a mop. Neil glanced around, and saw that chairs had been placed atop the tables and the kitchen lights had been switched off. He checked his watch, and realised that he’d spent two hours talking to Andrew.

Matt must have realised that Neil had lost track of time, and pushed the mop handle from one hand to the other. “My shift ends in five, but you could lock up after if you want to stay longer?”

Neil looked to Andrew in question, who just blinked unhelpfully. Neil took the lack of refusal as acceptance, and turned back to Matt. “Sure.”

Matt nodded, and held up his hand in a half-hearted wave to Andrew. When Andrew didn’t react, or even shift his attention away from Neil, Matt turned it into an awkward thumbs-up. “Alright. See you tomorrow?” This was directed at Neil, who nodded.

Matt left, and Neil looked back to Andrew. The air felt heavier, now that it was just the two of them, though Neil couldn’t understand why. In most cases, Neil was more comfortable in small groups since he could let himself fade into the background, and listen to the conversation more than contribute to it. When it was just one other person for company, Neil would have to contribute, but with Andrew he didn’t feel the pressure to fill gaps of silence.

Neil took their bowls back this time, and vaulted over the counter to get to the kitchen door behind it. He realised belatedly that he’d missed the flip-top counter—which Andrew used with a raised eyebrow—and had to accept the fact that he’d made ‘Neil’ into an obnoxious asshole.

Neil pushed on and pulled open the door to the kitchen, where he was greeted by shining stainless steel, and his second mistake: he had no idea where anything was. Opening cupboard doors to look for dish soap, and trying to figure out how to use the strange looking hose attached to the sink, would immediately arise suspicion. _Shit._

Andrew picked up on his hesitation, and said, rather cruelly, “Your mom liked spotless kitchens, too?”

“Fuck off,” Neil said automatically, though he figured that Andrew was only mean when he thought Neil was lying about something. Neil allowed himself to be grateful that artists never found out that their ‘Muse’ had been fabricated, as he’d already given Andrew enough ammunition.

“You’ve never been in here before, have you?” Andrew asked, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. He almost sounded amused, but Neil knew to be careful around the accusation.

“I told you I only work here sometimes,” Neil said, affecting nonchalonce as he traced a finger along the cabinets. “They never put me in the kitchens.”

“No? Just sweeping chimneys?”

Neil almost reminded Andrew that he was shorter than him, but then, Neil supposed, that chimney sweeps were supposed to have narrow frames, and Andrew was anything but.

He eventually figured out how the sink operated with the extendable hose, while Andrew sat cross-legged atop the counter behind him. He managed to wash out the ice-cream bowls, but he also managed to spray himself with water, his shirt soaked through and sticking to his torso.

He was grateful that it was black and wouldn’t turn see-through when wet, but he still ran his hands over the cloth a dozen times to make sure none of his scars were showing. He was sure he could feel his scars through the thin cloth, but he desperately hoped they weren’t visible.

He followed Andrew through the kitchen doors, but where he expected Andrew to follow the glowing signs for the exit—now that he’d had enough of the unlimited free ice-cream—he headed toward the back instead. He stopped in front of a door marked STAFF ONLY, and Neil silently hoped that Matt had left the door unlocked. Thankfully, it opened with ease. When he caught Andrew’s look, Neil shrugged and said, “We’re getting a coded lock fitted next week.” The lie slipped out with ease of practice, though Neil almost missed the honesty he and Andrew had shared over ice-cream. He’d have to get over it soon.

Neil waited by the door while Andrew pulled open unlocked lockers, rifling through their contents until he pulled out an orange hooded sweater. He held it out in front of him for inspection, before throwing it at Neil. Neil caught it on instinct, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it.

Neil looked from the sweater in his hands, and back to Andrew. Andrew looked at him like he was stupid. “You’re dripping.”

Neil looked down. He was indeed dripping. He’d made a puddle on the carpet beneath his feet, several shades darker than the rest of the staff room floor. He looked back to the sweater but he still wasn’t entirely sure that Andrew had broken into the staff room _just_ to get Neil dry clothes. He hesitated a second, but he couldn’t think of an alternative explanation.

“Can you—” he paused, and gritted his teeth at the truth he was unwillingly telling, “turn around?”

Andrew didn’t say anything, just turned around to face the wall. Neil’s shoulders slumped in relief when he didn’t have to try and explain himself, and he peeled off his wet shirt. He didn’t have a towel, so he pulled the sweater over damp skin and patted himself dry. The fabric was soft and worn, and there was an embroidered fox and roller-skate boot on the breast.

“You can turn around now,” Neil said, balling up the wet shirt and refusing to meet Andrew’s eyes. He turned for the door and pulled it open with enough force that it would take enough time to close to let Andrew through, without it being obvious that Neil wouldn’t hold it open for him.

The music was still playing, though the playlist had been put on repeat and Electric Light Orchestra was echoing through the empty roller-disco again. Neil was stuck in a loop of driving through California with his mother, not understanding why he was the one behind the wheel until it was too late.

“Don’t look back,” his mother had made him promise, fingers tight around his arm. _“Don’t slow down, and don’t trust anyone. Be anyone but yourself, and never be anyone for too long.”_

Neil hadn’t yet understood that she was saying goodbye. She’d repeated these promises so often over the six years they’d been running, that it had just become a mantra.

She’d died gasping for one last breath, and Chris had felt her fingernails digging into his arm as she tried to claw onto life. Her abdomen had felt swollen and hard under Alex’s fingertips. Stefan had tried pulling her from her seat, but at the sound of dried blood ripping off the vinyl Tristan had recoiled back.

Michael had burned the car, and Sam had refused to cry. Thomas had filled her backpack with her cooling bones, and William had carried her two miles down the beach.

Abram had been the one to bury her.

A distant voice was calling him by the wrong name. He thought he was supposed to be Chris? Or was it Alex?

“Neil.”

No, Abram had never been a Neil. His mother would never have let him pick a name so close to his first. But his mother wasn’t here anymore. She was charred bones, buried in the sands along the west coast.

A warm weight pressed against the back of his neck, and he was pushed down onto the ground, his head between his knees. Was this what she had felt like? Being pushed down into the sands, deeper and deeper?

“Breathe.”

Was it that simple? He tried to get air into his lungs but it felt like more ash, grey and thick and heavy in his lungs. It wasn’t until his fourth attempt that he drew in a ragged breath.

The weight on the back of his neck remained, and he used it as a focal point to concentrate on as he slowed his thundering heart.

Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked up to see Andrew knelt in front of him, reaching over to grasp the back of Neil’s neck. _Oh._ The weight was Andrew’s hand. Neil caught sight of black cotton stretched over Andrew’s forearms underneath his shirt sleeve, though by the time Neil moved his head Andrew was already pulling his hand back. Neil caught himself missing the weight of his hand on his neck.

He almost expected Andrew to say something Matt or Dan would. _“You good?”_ or _“Are you okay?”_ or even something like Allison’s impatient, _“Are you done yet?”_

But Andrew said nothing for the time it took Neil to collect himself. After a minute of watching Neil for any signs of slipping back into a panic attack, Andrew said, “You’re a mess.”

It was almost enough to startle a laugh out of Neil, but the adrenaline had exhausted him. Neil wanted to head home and sleep it off—even if his apartment was cold and his mattress threadbare—but he had a job to do.

“I’m going to get some skates.” He left the offer to join him unspoken, as he’d worked out by now that Andrew wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to do, and asking him wouldn’t change anything.

“Are you sure you can stand up straight?” Andrew asked.

“No,” Neil said honestly, but climbed up onto his feet. He didn’t wobble, so he offered Andrew a hand to pull him up. Andrew just looked at it, so Neil withdrew his hand and stepped back to give Andrew room to get up on his own.

Neil looked around for the skate exchange, but Andrew found it first and set off ahead of him. Neil trailed behind him, and followed through the gate this time. He wasn’t certain that his legs would catch him if he tried jumping over the counter again.

Neil ran his finger along the shelves of plastic roller-skates, each bright orange with white straps, trying to find a pair in his size. The roller-skates Neil had found in the antiques shop were too big for Neil, and likely too big for Andrew too, so Neil settled for what _The Foxhole Court_ had to offer. He fiddled around with the straps until the boots felt tight enough, but he still had to grab hold of the bench to catch himself when he stood up and promptly lost his balance. Andrew watched without lifting a finger to help, his quota for benevolence filled already.

Neil used the railings to keep himself upright as he slowly made his way to the rink, and Andrew trailed after him until he reached the benches by the plexiglass wall around the rink. Neil wasn’t sure if Andrew would be able to see anything, given that the handrail running atop the wall was in Andrew’s direct line of sight, but he didn’t say anything about it.

Neil paid him no mind, letting his balance adjust to the slide of the skates against the polished floor.

* * *

**A** ndrew would have assumed that he was dreaming, if this wasn’t the strangest dream his mind had managed to come up with. His dreams ranged from his foster homes to places he’d seen on television, settings in books and the false promises of advertising campaigns, but he’d never dreamt of a roller-disco before.

Bee had once told him that lucid dreamers recognised that they were dreaming from the details of a dream; asleep, their minds didn’t pay as much attention to detail as they did in their conscious mind. Windows appeared where paintings used to hang, every person the dreamer passed was someone they knew, cupboards opened into voids of space. Andrew was never one of those dreamers, considering the way his eidetic memory filled in the gaps. Songs heard on the radio played in the background, the landscape through car windows fit journeys taken years before, bookshelves were filled with identical copies of the books he had read over the course of his life.

The only way Andrew could tell that this wasn’t just an unusual dream was that he knew he lacked the imagination to dream up someone like Neil.

Neil, who was currently settling an argument between his sense of balance and a pair of roller-skates. Andrew was pretty certain that the roller-skates would win.

It took four songs for Neil to make his way through three slow laps—only the last without the use of the handrail—and Andrew was becoming infinitely bored with watching. It wasn’t anything unusual—boredom was a psychological state Andrew was well acquainted with—but his usual method of dealing with it was to go to sleep, and there was too much ice-cream fueled energy in his system for that.

Andrew would have assumed that he was dreaming, except his dream-self would have a lot more sense than he did at that moment.

With Neil’s focus fixed on keeping upright, Andrew stood up from the bench—his back aching a little from where he’d been slumped low enough to see under the handrail—and found himself pulling out a pair of roller-skates in his size. Unlike Neil, Andrew carried his skates all the way back to the rink before pulling them on.

Neil hadn’t noticed Andrew’s absence, but he whipped his head around—narrowly avoiding a fall by grabbing hold of the handrail—at the sound of the gate unlocking. Andrew ignored the grin Neil sent him from across the polished wood, as well as the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it.

 _Fucking ridiculous,_ he thought, though he didn’t know if he meant Neil or himself. He definitely meant himself when he muttered it under his breath the instant the wheels of his skates hit the polished wood and sent him careening forward. He caught himself on the handrail, but Neil had cut down the middle of the rink to meet him. He’d clearly set off before Andrew lost his balance, though his arms had darted forward as if to grab Andrew and steady him.

Neil’s hands were inches away from Andrew’s shoulders, but they’d stopped when Andrew had caught himself.

Andrew batted them away out of reach. “Don’t touch me.”

Neil lowered his hands. “Okay,” he said, as if it were that easy. ~~It was supposed to be.~~

And then Neil cocked his head to the side, beckoning Andrew along the loop of the rink. He made a show of shoving his hands into stolen pockets, which Andrew ignored and went past him. He refused to use the handrail, and settled for slow glides on unstable feet.

It took them a while, but eventually they settled into a rhythm of loops around the rink, just out of reach of one another. Andrew still thought the activity was pointless, but he supposed the alternative was a day in his apartment going through the motions: staring at his storyless junk, trying to read but losing concentration because the boxes of storyless junk reminded him that he’d failed to do the one thing he thought he could rely on, and then ignoring Kevin’s incessant whining about the storyless junk and Andrew’s inability to do anything with it.

So really, pointless roller-skating was an improvement to Andrew’s day.

And then there was Neil.

They’d continued their game of truths on the rink, though it had shifted to lighter topics. Andrew had found out that Neil’s last name was Josten, that he used to travel a lot as a child, and that his favourite colour was grey. The latter of which was freely given, after Andrew proclaimed that, just as he didn’t have a favourite book, he didn’t have a favourite colour either. Neil had traded those truths in exchange for Andrew’s last name (Minyard) and his college major (Criminology).

Andrew didn’t know what had triggered it, but one moment Neil had been skating alongside Andrew, debating whether coffee or tea was the superior beverage, and the next, he was windmilling his arms trying to catch his balance. Andrew only had a second to brace himself, knowing it would happen. His shoulders tensed, and his hands tightened into fists ready to throw Neil off when he inevitably made a grab for him to steady himself.

A beat later, Neil was on the floor.

Andrew looked down at him, lips slightly parted. Andrew wanted to say something, _anything,_ to keep his mind from dangerous thoughts. He focused on the music reverberating through the speakers—Tears For Fears. _Head Over Heels._ 1985\. _Songs from the Big Chair._ Black and white album cover—but Andrew couldn’t focus on the lyrics because Neil hadn’t grabbed him. _He hadn’t grabbed him._

Instead, he’d let himself fall backwards and hit the polished floor with a _thud._

He hadn’t even stopped talking. “I’m just saying, tea takes so much longer to make. You have to use a strainer and wait for it to brew and then you don’t even do anything with the tea leaves. You throw it out. Coffee you just scoop some into your mug and throw in hot water. Perfect. Think of all the endless things you could do in the time you just saved.”

Andrew hummed. “All that endless time and yet you still haven’t gotten up off the floor.”

Neil smiled lopsided, his head lolled to one side. He looked like a puppet with loose strings, where one tug would snap him free from his puppeteer. “Am I bothering you?”

“Beyond the telling.”

“Interesting. Earlier you said nothing gets under your skin.”

Andrew wanted to break him. He wanted to put his hands around his throat and _squeeze._ He wanted to find the camera behind him and tell the viewers that he knew that this was complete bullshit, because there was no _fucking_ way that this was real.

Instead of doing any of that, Andrew ignored him and made a small circle back to the gate, concentrating on keeping his balance as he unlocked it again to let him out. He unstrapped his skates quickly and shoved them in the space left after he took out his boots. He was still lacing them up as Neil pulled on his own, an irritatingly convenient zip on the inside of each boot.

Andrew didn’t wait for him, and pulled out a carton of cigarettes once he was outside. The bang of the door slamming against the wall was ignored in favour of lighting his cigarette, and he welcomed the burn of his next breath.

A pair of boots joined him a minute later, steps careful and quiet as Neil stood in front him. Andrew looked up to meet Neil’s gaze, but Neil wasn’t looking at him like he was a grenade about to explode, or a wounded animal in need of a caring hand. Neil just looked at him like he’d always looked at him: considering, but not afraid or pitying. Andrew looked away and focused on the empty street over Neil’s shoulder. It was late, the yellowing street lamps mirrored in pothole-puddles.

Neil stole the cigarette from between Andrew’s fingers, and for some reason Andrew let him keep it, watching as Neil held it near his face. Andrew’s thoughts morphed into a smoke-rendered question mark.

“Secondhand smoke is just as bad as active smoking,” Andrew said. “You’re not saving yourself from anything.”

Neil smiled a little, as if Andrew had said something funny, but then shrugged one shoulder. “I like the smell.”

Andrew snatched his cigarette back. “Then like it from here. I’m not wasting nicotine on you.”

“Okay.” Neil moved to stand beside Andrew and lean against the brick wall. Andrew was glad that he’d swapped the black t-shirt for the orange monstrocity, because otherwise he might have looked like an indie-rock wannabe of teenage Andrew’s dreams.

They stood in easy silence as Andrew finished his cigarette, and Neil pushed off the wall when Andrew stubbed it out with the toe of his boot.

Andrew watched as Neil considered the closed door. He considered asking, but figured Neil would show him what he was doing sooner or later.

Andrew was right, but he was still surprised. He caught that passing thought, and wondered when the last time he had been surprised; Andrew was almost always five steps ahead of the people in his life, with plans for the most likely outcomes of every scenario, as well as contingency plans for the most absurd.

He and Renee had strategies for alien invasions, zombie apocalypses, and environmental disasters, but he didn’t think he had a strategy for Neil.

Neil drew out a pair of thin silver lockpicks from his boot, and knelt in front of the door. The fact that Neil didn’t have keys was obvious, and Andrew didn’t particularly care _why_ he didn’t have keys. Either Matt had taken them with him by mistake, or Neil had lied about working here and was never given a set. He did, however, wonder why Neil had learned to use lockpicks. Andrew himself had learned in the way bored kids in juvie did, but Neil was an enigma.

In the end, Andrew didn’t have to ask. Neil caught him looking, and shrugged again as he slid the picks back into his boot. “My mom taught me.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he remembered being six years old and convinced that his parents were secretly criminals or space pirates, and were looking for him across the galaxy. He remembered believing that they would break into his current foster home—a dream compared to the houses to come—and take him away. He used to draw pictures in stolen crayons about his life on their spaceship, and hide them under his pillow before his foster siblings found them.

Andrew pushed away the memories with the expertise of practice. It was pointless to think of that now: his birth mother certainly never came to find him, and his father likely didn’t know of his existence. He’d eventually figured that out, even if he had still clinged onto the pathetic fantasies for years. He knew better now.

Andrew fingered out a second cigarette as Neil straightened, brushing stray gravel from his knees. The jeans he wore were far too well made for how he treated them, and it was another piece in the puzzle that was Neil Josten. He didn’t act rich, even if he dressed like it. _New money?_ No. It was something else. Something stranger.

“Problem?”

Andrew met Neil’s gaze. A single eyebrow was raised, but Andrew ignored it. “You’re an enigma.”

“Thank you.”

“No,” Andrew said, pointing at him with the smoking end of his cigarette. He placed it in his lips again and spoke around it as he gave Neil another considering look. “Thank you. I think I might enjoy figuring you out.”

Neil frowned. “I’m not a math problem.”

Andrew made a mockery of Neil’s shrug. “But I’ll still solve you.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “Goodbye, Neil Josten.”

* * *

**O** ne week later, Andrew’s phone began to buzz on his bedside table. Andrew was already awake; had been for over an hour, unable to sleep because of his still too-fast heart. His skin itched from phantom hands, but not enough for him to get up and shower.

He let it ring out twice, and then picked up on the third call.

“If I forgot to buy eggs can I still make a cake?” Nicky asked. It wasn’t a question of forethought: late 1990s pop music was playing in the background, which he exclusively listened to when baking. He’d likely mixed up the batter already, opened the fridge, and found that his six-pocket egg tray was empty.

“What’s the cake?”

“Make your own cake. I can’t send a slice in the post, as much as I tried to send a tin of cookies to Erik six years ago.”

“You can switch eggs for something depending on the recipe.”

“Oh. I went with tres leches in the end but Ingrid is lactose-intolerant so I’m using soy milk and I don’t know why I didn’t pick a different cake. I mean, it’s _three different types of dairy._ And now I’m not even using eggs and—”

“It will be fine,” Andrew said, mostly to shut him up, and partly because Erik’s family loved Nicky. “You can use white vinegar and baking soda.”

Nicky didn’t say anything, but he was clearly rummaging around in one of his cupboards. Andrew held the phone away from his ear because it was far too noisy for the morning. He put it back to his ear again when he heard Nicky’s triumphant, “Ah-hah!”

Andrew only half-paid attention to Nicky’s rambling as he mixed ingredients, but he answered when Nicky asked him something, and made non-committal grunts when he just needed encouragement to go on with his monologue.

“So, did anything interesting happen to you this week?”

 _Yes._ Meeting Neil Josten was the most interesting thing to happen to Andrew for a long time. There was no point in telling Nicky, though, since that interest would vanish in a week or two. “No.”

Nicky hummed, in what he probably thought was indifference, but Andrew knew that he was disappointed. It would have been worse if Andrew _had_ told Nicky and then lost interest. Nicky had always had big dreams for Andrew; not necessarily being _successful,_ but at least being happy. He had been overjoyed when Andrew found something he was interested in, something that he didn’t just do because he had to, but something he did because he enjoyed it. Art wasn’t like exy, but Andrew’s art block had almost made it so.

Nicky was sidetracked by who-knew-what, and started to ramble about what he had been doing this week, his plans for the rest of the month, whether Andrew had seen a new film that had just been released in Germany, and what Andrew’s opinions were on some new album Nicky was obsessed with. Andrew hadn’t seen the film or heard the music, but he still argued with every point Nicky made about either.

Eventually Andrew hung up while Nicky was still saying his goodbyes. He rubbed his eyes until he saw stars as he sat up despite not having any sleep to wipe away.

The floorboards were cold under his feet as he headed to the kitchen to make coffee, but he didn’t want to go back to his room to find some socks that probably needed washing. Instead, he pulled himself up onto the kitchen counter to keep his feet off the floor. He stayed up there as he poured himself coffee, and stayed up there as he held it in his hands to cool. He stayed up there when Kevin came through with a stubbed toe and a scowl, and when he whined at Andrew for both his boxes of found objects, and that there wasn’t enough coffee left over for a second mug.

Andrew shrugged, and made his next sip a loud slurp. He felt a tinge of amusement when Kevin’s scowl deepened. The dried green paste on his face cracked around his eyebrows, which almost made up for the smell of peppermint that would likely linger for a few hours. Kevin, unhappy with being ignored, spun around and picked up the nearest box of found items. He carried it over to Andrew, and Andrew started to wonder whether he needed to put down his coffee. He didn’t want to spill it over his only clean set of pyjamas, and he _really_ didn’t want to do laundry.

He lowered the mug from his mouth, but his attention snagged on something in the box. Something red.

For a split second, Andrew believed that that splash of red amidst the grey and the brown was a set of roller-skates.

It was impossible, of course. Neither he nor Neil had bought the roller-skates in the antiques shop, and this wasn’t the type of object you found lying around under a park bench.

Andrew lifted a picture frame up to find that the splash of red underneath was a red alarm clock with brass bells. Andrew dropped the clock and refused to feel disappointed. It wasn’t like he’d been looking for proof that his evening with Neil had happened and that _The Foxhole Court_ was real. Andrew had been off his court-mandated drugs for three years, so he knew that it hadn’t been some drug-fueled hallucination, but Andrew doubted that there wasn’t something else beneath the surface, some other reason that Andrew couldn’t stop thinking about Neil Josten.

* * *

**A** ndrew’s favourite table was taken when he stepped into _Walker Way With a Book,_ and he would have turned around and left if the brass bell above the door hadn’t alerted Renee to his entrance.

“Andrew,” she said warmly, leaning over the counter between a pile of newly donated books and the cash register that always looked dusty. “How are you?”

“Living the dream,” Andrew said in monotone.

Renee smiled like she didn’t know he was joking, or perhaps because she _did_ know. She always had low standards for happiness. He told her as much, but she only smiled again, softer this time, and replied, “I don’t think so.”

Andrew stayed by the counter until his usual table was emptied of Andrew’s latest inconvenience, and scanned the bookcase beside him for Renee’s latest recommendation. One title in particular caught his gaze. _American Hippo._ Neil’s favourite. He drew it out from the shelf, and flipped over the brown paper label.

_From the start, the protagonist, Winslow, is written as a truly morally grey character. He kills a man for insulting his hippo and then trying to attack him. It’s arguably self-defense, except that Winslow slit the man’s nostrils and put a knife through his eye—hardly everyday self-defence class curriculum, and certainly not a move to perform with ease, unhesitantly, without practice. The supporting cast are equally checkered, and entirely unapologetic. Even when we, as readers, don’t support their actions, we are shown the bad and the good, and we are given the chance to either make our own opinions or to simply read without condemning the characters to moral judgement._

Andrew frowned. He didn’t know whether to be suspicious or grateful that his best friend would have something in common with someone he was interested in, but he certainly found coincidence unpleasant. Unlike Renee, who had all her ideas about fate, Andrew didn’t like the idea that the universe was keeping tabs on his life.

“I finished that last week,” Renee said, setting down a hand painted teapot onto their table along with two similarly designed mugs. Lemongrass this time. “I think you’d enjoy it.”

Andrew hadn’t gotten around to reading Renee’s last recommendation, so he shook his head and put it back on the shelf. “Next time.”

Renee accepted that easily and poured the tea. “I tried this new blend a few days ago. It reminds me of Guatemala.”

Renee had been a volunteer in the Peace Corps for a couple years after graduating, but she returned when her mother broke her arm. Stephanie was fine now, but Renee still wanted to be closer in case something happened. Andrew could understand that. He would never stop Renee from doing what she wanted, but he did find it easier when she was only a few blocks away rather than the other side of the world.

“Nicky tried making tres leches this morning,” Andrew said. “He forgot to buy eggs.”

Renee took a sip of her tea, two hands curled around the mug with her pinky tucked through the handle. “What did you suggest?”

“Vinegar and baking soda.”

She hummed. “Flaxseed would have worked too.”

“No one has flaxseed in their cupboard.”

“I do.”

“You’re a lesbian.”

Renee laughed brightly and the sky outside looked a little less grey. Andrew leaned back in his armchair and sipped at the tea. It made him grimace and scoop in a teaspoon of sugar. His next sip tasted vaguely of coconut, and he eyed the sugar. It was brown, but he’d assumed that it was demerara.

“Mrs. Rhemann gave me a canister of coconut sugar,” Renee explained. The Rhemanns owned the café across the road. “Apparently there was a mixup with their last shipment and they ended up with double their usual order.”

“Sugar keeps well,” Andrew said.

“Some people like to make friends with their neighbours.”

She was, of course, referring to her theory that Andrew had scared away his and Kevin’s last neighbour simply by glaring at him in greeting. Andrew’s counter-argument was that Kevin used to comment on the contents of the neighbour’s bin, and believed Kevin had offered a few ‘helpful’ tips on how to avoid eating take-out three nights a week.

“We could do something with it,” Renee said, half suggestion, half statement. “I’ve got a recipe for cheesecake saved somewhere.”

Andrew could turn her down, but he considered it before shrugging. “Okay.”

Renee smiled again. “Sunday? After sparring?”

Andrew nodded and the rest of their time together was spent in comfortable silence. He almost missed it when he stepped outside again. There was something nipping at him in his head, like a thought that had gotten so deeply lodged in his brain that Andrew couldn’t pull it out to the surface.

He stood still for a few moments, letting the crisp wind sting his face and make the fringing of his scarf dance and play. He sighed to himself and pulled out his phone. He called the first number on speed-dial.

“Dr. Dobson’s office,” Betsy greeted.

“It’s Andrew. Do you have any time today or tomorrow?”

“I’ve got a cancellation this afternoon. Will two o’clock be okay?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Andrew. I’ll see you then.”

The rest of the morning passed by slowly, and Andrew left for Bee’s office fifteen minutes before he needed to. He spent those extra fifteen minutes in the waiting room, flicking through boring magazines and boring self-help books.

The click of Bee’s door opening was a welcome distraction. Andrew pushed the books and magazines aside, and stood up to greet her.

“Hello, Andrew,” Bee said with a smile that warmed his chest. It was a ridiculous notion, but he felt inexplicably _safe_ around Bee, like nothing bad could happen to him inside her office.

Andrew nodded at her, and followed her down the hallway to her office. She opened the door for him, and he stepped through first.

Bee’s office was the same as it always was. A coffee table—a potted plant placed dead centre—sat between the chair and couch, pillows painstakingly arranged on both. The walls were off-white, and books neatly lined the bottom three shelves of her bookcase that lined one wall. The top shelf held an assortment of glass figurines, arranged the way only an OCD hand could. Andrew had once made routine in moving one an inch to the left or to the right, just to unnerve his newly assigned therapist, but he’d stopped once Bee pointed it out.

They’d later examined Andrew’s desire for routine and stability, how it likely stemmed from his childhood in foster care, but he rarely wound Bee up in that same way. Not when she already put up with all of his shit after so long.

Andrew dropped down onto her couch and watched as she closed her office door behind her.

“Hot chocolate?” she offered. “I found a new cocoa mix over the weekend, though I suppose you’ll want the same as usual?”

Andrew only nodded, and ran his fingers over the seam of the armrest looking for stray threads to pick at. There weren’t any, but that was expected.

Neither of them spoke as Bee heated the milk in a small yellow pot, and Andrew let the soothing sound of hot chocolate being poured into two mugs wash over him as he fixed his gaze on the wall behind her armchair.

“It’s a salted caramel one.” Bee’s teaspoon clinked against the mug as she stirred. “It’s rather indulgent.”

Andrew only hummed, and a moment later Bee came into view again, adjusting the cushion slightly before sitting down.

“I’m glad you called, Andrew,” she said, which meant _I’m glad you reached out when you needed someone._ “How have you been this week?”

“Tired,” Andrew said.

“Did something happen that was particularly tiring?”

Andrew mulled it over, considering the past week and at which points Andrew had felt the most exhausted. “No. Just Kevin’s usual brand of callousness. He’s still on my back about my things.”

Bee hummed. “And how do you feel about these objects being kept in your apartment?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to put them.”

“You could always donate them somewhere. If they don’t spark inspiration for your work you don’t have to hold onto them. Maybe there’s someone else out there who could find a home for those objects. You don’t have to take them all.”

“This isn’t some foster project, Bee. They’re pieces of junk, not children.”

Bee nodded her head in acquiescence, and took a sip of her hot chocolate. “What else did you get up to this week? Has Renee given you another recommendation?”

It was an opportunity for Andrew to start talking about the other mundane trivialities of his life, but it was also a tentative branch for him to tell her what it was that had made him call her that morning.

Andrew drummed his fingers once, twice, while Bee let him formulate his thoughts into words. He wondered whether to tell her about his still-present paranoia.

Andrew had been feeling watched for the last few weeks. It was glances of people on the other side of the street, someone ducking just out of sight from the corner of his eye, that feeling of being listened in on that sent goosebumps over the back of Andrew’s neck.

Andrew decided not to mention it. It wasn’t something Bee could particularly help him with, since the problem hadn’t changed and she’d already given him management strategies.

“I went roller-skating last Monday.”

Andrew wondered how many years of practice it took for Bee to learn how to control her facial expressions. Andrew had figured it out by the time he was thirteen.

“How did you find it?”

“I prefer walking,” Andrew said, and Bee waited patiently before he continued. “I met someone interesting.”

Bee took this in stride, even though Andrew had been quite clear in the six years they had known each other that Andrew never found anything or anyone interesting. “Will you see them again?”

“Probably not.”

“Do you want to?”

Andrew gave her a blank look. She knew the answer to that.

Bee didn’t push it. “How is Nicky?”


	3. LOST AND FOUND

**N** eil pressed the refresh button again. And again. And again. He leant his head down onto the screen until a pop-up came up with an error message.

“Fuck off,” he told it.

“Wow thanks, Neil. Love you, too.”

Neil didn’t startle, and instead turned his head slightly to see Dan pull up a chair in the monitoring room, two mugs of coffee in hand. She pushed one into Neil’s hands. “Not taking it well then?”

She didn’t mean the coffee. Neil looked back to the screen, but the statistics hadn’t changed.

WORKS STARTED: 0  
WORKS COMPLETED: 0  
WORKS ABANDONED: 0  


Andrew hadn’t even _tried_ making new work. Neil had almost considered breaking his own rule and asking for a camera to be installed within Andrew's apartment to see if he was making any progress, but Neil knew his impatience didn’t justify intrusion. He just had to figure something else out.

“Matt’s got his new assignment,” Dan said. “Some sculptor in Boston.”

“Yeah?” Neil asked, though Dan only hummed in reply. “He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

A half-smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah.”

“You’ve got an assignment coming up too, right?”

Dan nodded, more enthusiastic this time. “Yeah, it should be coming in sometime next week. Hopefully I’ll finish around the same time as Matt and we can take a vacation after. I’ve still got a few days' leave saved up, and the union won’t be meeting until next month.”

Dan was a representative at the Muses’ trade union, and had been for longer than Neil had known her. They had meetings once a month, discussing plans to bargain for better pay and working conditions. It sometimes worked—they managed to secure the option of dropping an assignment and passing it onto another Muse if things weren’t going well—but it usually didn’t. Seth, a Muse in their fifth year of employment when Neil joined _Moriyama Muses,_ had attempted to get a raise, and stopped showing up to work three weeks later. Dan’s face scrunched up as it always did when she was making plans. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Neil asked.

“Any plans for after Minyard’s got his groove back?”

Neil wasn’t sure Andrew had ever had a _groove._ He hadn’t been impressed with _The Foxhole Court’s_ playlist. “I’ll be here until after you get back from vacation.”

Dan pulled a face, and glanced over at Neil’s screen. The progress bar was still empty. “Skip it. You’ve usually made a breakthrough by this point at least.”

Dan was the third Muse to suggest he skipped this assignment. The first had been Matt, over a phone call with patchy reception, after Neil had told him that Andrew didn’t like Exy. The second had been Allison, who told him to pass the assignment over to an intern when she found out Neil had made plans to see Andrew on the day she wanted to go out to brunch with him.

Neil was getting tired of hearing it. The smart thing to do would be to skip it, and before he met Andrew, he probably would have done it if he knew it would have turned out like this. But he didn’t _want_ to skip it. He wanted Andrew to start creating again, finding the stories of the weird and wonderful objects he found. He wanted to move onto another assignment, and bring himself one step closer to paying off his debt to the Moriyamas, but he also knew that it wouldn’t happen any time soon, so what was another week?

It was a bullshit excuse, and Neil lied often enough that he knew when he was lying to himself, but knowing that he was lying didn’t always mean that he knew what the truth was.

Neil had no idea why he was so insistent on completing this assignment, but the thought of passing it onto somebody else made him feel irrationally angry.

Neil shook his head. “I’m gonna stick with it.”

Dan shrugged, and set her empty coffee mug down next to her. “Any new ideas?”

Neil nodded once, and then again. “Just the one.”

* * *

**N** eil had spent the rest of the day doing research on Andrew’s artwork, and devised the perfect plan to put Andrew back on track for inspiration.

Enter: King.

Two years ago, King Fluffkins and Sir Fat Cat McCatterson were shoved into Neil’s arms by Matt, who’d decided that Neil needed another body in his apartment to greet him when he went home after work. Apparently, two cats equalled one person. He didn’t particularly understand the gesture. Before Sir and King, Neil used to stay late at work every night and barely spent enough time at home to sleep. He didn’t need the company for somewhere he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t be allowed to bring the cats to work with him (he had tried, when one assignment was giving him grief about deciding to change her entire specialism halfway through his assignment). So now Neil left work around the same time as the rest of the Muses, just to feed a pair of hungry and noisy cats.

Neither cat looked like a stray, considering their sleek fur and bright eyes, but Neil was working on short notice. King was the smaller of the two, compared to the almost dog-sized Sir, so Neil had taken off the tag on her collar and replaced it with a new one of his own making:

_at least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind..._

Step one: Neil would knock on Andrew’s door, pretending that he’d just ‘stumbled’ upon a missing cat.

Step two: Andrew would agree to help Neil find the cat’s owner, and recognise the words on King’s collar.

Step three: Andrew would follow the clues and track down King’s ‘home’, and remember how adept he was at finding homes for lost things. He’d apply this to his work, and Neil’s assignment would get that green stamp of completion.

It had taken him hours to figure it all out, and endless research. But eventually Neil had found out that Renee was Catholic, and there happened to be a patron saint of lost things. He had found a poem about Saint Anthony, included in an anthology Renee had posted a review of online, and taken a line from it to emboss onto King’s collar tag. Andrew would recognise the quote because of his relationship with Renee, and this would cement the promise that inspiration needed the support from those around us.

He was only a few blocks away from Andrew’s apartment, and that was where his plan for the night would begin. All he needed was Andrew’s acceptance.

Neil shushed King when she meowed at him from his arms. “We’re nearly there.”

If he hadn’t spent six years looking over his shoulder and suspecting every passerby, he might not have turned at the familiar voice behind him. He might have been so lost in his plans that he’d continue to Andrew’s apartment none-the-wiser.

But Neil had spent six years running from shadows.

“Neil?” the familiar voice called.

Neil whirled around, much to King’s protests, and saw Andrew in the doorway of a shop, smoking a cigarette. The carton was still in his hand, plastic packaging freshly torn.

_Shit._

Neil looked down to King, who looked back at him and licked at his chin when it came within reach. _Shit._

“Uh,” Neil started, just under his breath as Andrew stepped out of the doorway, stubbing his cigarette out on the brick wall.

Andrew came to a stop within reach—likely because of the cat inhibiting Neil’s arms—and looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Hi,” Neil said.

Andrew’s gaze flickered down to King and then back to Neil.

“This is—” Neil cut himself off from her introduction, “a cat.”

Andrew blinked. _Great. Now he thinks I’m stupid._

“I found her,” Neil said, slowly pulling himself back into his lies. He hadn’t realised he was out of practice. It had only been a week but he was already blending into ‘Neil Josten’ seamlessly. Abram was a liar by nurture, but Neil had never had that kind of life. Neil was honest, and true, and everything Neil wanted to be but never could.

Andrew still didn’t say anything, instead taking another drag of his cigarette. At this rate, Andrew would be finished by the time Neil stuttered out a sentence with more than one clause.

Neil wanted to brush his hair out of his face, but although King was smaller than Sir, she was still more than a handful, even if Neil knew that she wouldn’t likely go anywhere if he _did_ drop her.

“And you decided to steal it?” Andrew finally said.

Neil wondered if that would have been a better idea, and whether Andrew considered his work a form of theft. It seemed unlikely; the objects were abandoned, though perhaps a well-fed cat was slightly different from a broken umbrella.

“I’m trying to find her owner,” Neil said, and to make sure that Andrew didn’t leave him to it, added, “but I’m not doing very well. Will you help me?”

Andrew sucked in an inhale on his cigarette, and held it in his lungs for several seconds. Neil imagined his own heart rate lining up with Andrew’s, but then Andrew exhaled a breath of smoke into Neil’s face. Neil breathed in, remembering the tear of dried blood on vinyl seats and the smell of gasoline, and when the smoke cleared, there was a peculiar look on Andrew’s face. Andrew spoke before Neil had the chance to work out what his expression was, or before he had the chance to reflect on the fact that Neil had somehow picked up something from Andrew’s blank face.

“What will you give me?”

Neil cocked his head to the side as he considered. He didn’t know Andrew well enough yet to know exactly what Andrew would want, especially when Andrew so often said that he didn’t want anything, but he could rely on what worked in the past: the truth.

“I didn’t have any pets as a child,” he said. “Getting attached to an animal was a weakness I wasn’t allowed.”

Again, Andrew didn’t answer straight away, instead he flicked another look at King before turning his head to the side and exhaling another cloud of smoke into the empty street. “Okay.”

After they passed a closed homewear store, Andrew glanced at Neil. “You don’t know where any vet clinics are, do you?”

 _Vet clinics?_ Neil realised that Andrew thought they were going to see if there were any missing posters for a cat that resembled King. It was, Neil realised, the smart thing to do, though it did put a dent in his plans. He pressed his lips together, and considered how to answer. “I figured I’d find one eventually.”

Neil heard Andrew mutter something under his breath, though he couldn’t discern the words. Andrew pulled out his phone from his coat pocket and after pressing a couple buttons, held it up to his ear.

“Look something up for me,” he said without greeting. Neil couldn’t hear the reply, but it wasn’t long before Andrew said, “Nearby vet clinics.” A beat. “None of your business.” A minute later, Andrew then put his phone back in his pocket and started walking in the direction they had come from, Neil following with haste.

They found _Bubastis Veterinary Practice_ only fifteen minutes later. The walk was spent in comfortable silence—bar King’s occasional chirp—and Andrew pulled open one of the pastel green doors and held it open for Neil to step inside first.

It was a relatively large waiting room, or at least compared to the clinic Neil usually took Sir and King to. There were two rows of plastic chairs, and the walls were lined with shelves of pet food, toys, and over-the-counter medications for worming and fleas. Andrew took a seat, and Neil took King to the reception desk to check in. A poster was pinned on the wall behind it, reminding owners to keep their dogs on leads and cats in their carriers.

The receptionist looked up at Neil’s approach and smiled. “Hello, how can I help?”

“I found this cat a few blocks down,” Neil told him. “I just want to see if she’s okay and if there’s been any notices left about a missing cat.”

The man made a noise of sympathy at King, which she perked her ears at. When asked, Neil reluctantly shared his name, and the receptionist did something on his computer. “You can take a seat. Dr. Bastet won’t be long.”

‘Won’t be long’ apparently meant instantaneously. The waiting room was empty, but Neil had barely sat down before they were called.

Neil looked up to see a woman with bronze skin and straight hair worn loose. Black paint lined her eyes, sharpening into fine points that Allison would be proud of.

She didn’t question Andrew following Neil into the small room, a stainless steel examination table standing in the centre. The black countertop was chipped at the sides from the chewing or scratches of countless pets, and Neil set King down atop it while Andrew took one of the plastic chairs in the corner. King sniffed around a bit, and Neil held out his arm to stop her from jumping off. She chirped at him in protest, and he chirped back until he saw Andrew looking at him weirdly. Neil stopped, not wanting to make it seem that he and his cat were acquainted.

 _We don’t know each other,_ he thought at King. _We’re total strangers. Look aloof or something. No, don’t give me those eyes. I’ll give you a treat when we get home._

The vet shut the door behind them and walked over to where an old computer stood atop a chest of drawers. “My name is Dr. Bastet. Oliver said that you found this cat on the streets?”

“Yeah,” Neil lied. “A few blocks from here. There weren’t any missing posters around and the people I asked didn’t recognise her.”

“Well, she’s definitely domesticated,” Dr. Bastet said, noticing how unafraid King was of Neil. “Did you carry her all the way here?”

Neil nodded. “I figured she might not be used to cars and I didn’t have a carrier case or anything.”

Dr. Bastet nodded, and tapped away at the computer’s keyboard. Neil watched as she weighed King and checked her over. King started purring when she gave her a scratch behind her ears. “Alright,” Dr. Bastet said. “Let’s see if she’s chipped.”

Neil froze with his fingers buried in King’s fur. He’d forgotten that this would be part of the process, and this was likely why Andrew had assumed a vet clinic would be the first stop on their journey to returning King ‘home’.

“Oh, I don’t think she is,” Neil said. “Her collar didn’t say anything about it.”

King was microchipped, as her usual tag clearly stated, though this was left on Neil’s sorry excuse of a kitchen table. The other side of the tag had her full name in a font-size considerably smaller than the standard so her full name could fit. Neil hadn’t opted for putting his phone number on it. His father and his people were long gone, but the idea of strangers finding his contact details still set him on edge.

Dr. Bastet hummed, unclipping King’s collar and running her fingers between King’s shoulder blades and neck, gently applying pressure as she roamed between shoulder and head in a methodical manner. King was pliant under her fingers, purring, and Neil wondered if this was a trick he could learn to calm her down. “Microchips do bed in after a while, so they can move slightly from the original implant site.”

Neil nodded, trying to think of another way out without sounding suspicious. Dr. Bastet let King go, not that King went anywhere, and pulled open one of her drawers before closing it again a moment later and trying the second drawer down.

“My scanner’s next door. I’ll just be a moment.”

 _Shit._ Neil grabbed King and her collar and followed Dr. Bastet out into the hallway. She turned at the sound of the door opening, but Neil didn’t start talking until it had shut again, in case Andrew overheard.

“She’s mine,” he said in hushed tones. “I made up this story about finding a stray cat, and I’ve set up this scavenger hunt so we could search for clues about her owner. I asked my friend to go along with it when we show up at the final location in the middle of the night. Look—” Neil showed Dr. Bastet the tag on King’s collar. _“At least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind._ It’s from a poem about Saint Anthony.”

Dr. Bastet didn’t say anything for a while, and Neil wondered if she believed him. It was easy when he was lying, he’d come up with the most reasonable explanation and work around it. He knew all the physical tells of lying and how to avoid them; he knew to keep eye contact, to not clear his throat or swallow, to avoid touching his face or hair or the back of his neck.

He knew how to look honest, but he didn’t know how to tell the truth.

“Then you won’t mind if I still check her,” she said, a hard edge to her eyes.

Neil nodded. He didn’t want her to think he had stolen some cat who had a loving home waiting for her to return to.

“This way.”

Neil followed Dr. Bastet into another examination room, identical to the one Neil had left Andrew in. He set King on the table again as Dr. Bastet did something on the computer. When he next looked over, she had produced a handheld scanner with a small green screen, and a small plastic box. She pressed a button, which emitted a small _beep,_ and hovered it over the box. Neil couldn’t see if anything showed on the screen, but she put the box back into the drawer and brought the scanner over to King. She swept it from shoulder to neck and side to side, before taking it to the computer and typing in a string of numbers.

It wasn’t long before the computer screen changed to reveal a description of King, and Neil’s name, address, and phone number.

“Have you got any ID on you?” Dr. Bastet asked, and examined Neil’s driving license when he passed it over. She handed it back with a smile, and gave King a stroke along her back down to the tip of her tail. Neil had never seen King sit so calmly for a stranger before, but she started purring when Neil scooped her up into his arms so Neil knew that he was still her favourite.

Dr. Bastet led the way back into the first examination room, where Andrew was playing on his phone. Neil knew it had to be a game of _Snake,_ since their phones didn’t come with anything else. He doubted that Andrew was scheduling in social events on the calendar app, though if he was it wouldn’t be long before Neil found out about it back at _Moriyama Muses._

“So she’s not chipped,” Dr. Bastet lied, not looking up from her clipboard. “She’ll likely have to stay with one of you for a few hours or days until you can find her owner or a new home. I would advise that she stays away from small children and other animals to minimise her stress levels while she’s in an unfamiliar environment. Oliver can send you a PDF of a missing poster template. All you’ll need to do is fill in some contact details and add a photograph.”

Neil nodded like he was going to do any of this, and she led the way back into the waiting room. Oliver called Neil’s name and waved a clipboard at him, so Neil pushed King into Andrew’s arms and made his way over.

Oliver set the clipboard and pen down onto the desk for him to sign the documents attached, an asterisk next to each box requiring a signature.

Neil paused when the pentip touched the paper.

Neil had told them his name aloud, and showed Dr. Bastet his Moriyama issued license, because it was unlikely they would remember it. But his signature was permanent. ‘Neil Josten’ was his legal name now—or as legal as one could be when conjured up by a deity. When he took up his assignment with Andrew, everything registered in Abram’s name had switched over to become Neil Josten’s. King was Neil Josten’s cat. His assignment allowance from _Moriyama Muses_ was sent to Neil Josten’s bank account. His monthly Exy magazine subscription was addressed to Neil Josten.

With his past assignments, this had been an inconvenience he’d had to get used to, but he’d never settled into the lives of Alex or Chris or Stefan like he had settled into Neil’s. He found himself dreading the day he’d have to give up this name, to hand it back to Ichirou in exchange for a stamp on a white file.

Neil didn’t let himself dwell on it for long. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. He gritted his teeth, signed Neil Josten’s name, and turned to find Dr. Bastet standing next to him. He hadn’t even heard her approach, which brought another wave of tension to his shoulders.

Dr. Bastet hadn’t picked up on it, considering the sly smile she sent his way after she read through the forms Neil signed. “Wonderful, thank you. And good luck on your date.”

Neil opened his mouth to correct her, but he wanted the conversation over more than he wanted her to know about how he was spending his time with Andrew. He nodded, and turned back to Andrew.

King was curled up in Andrew’s arms, letting him tickle her belly. Andrew looked reluctant to give King back to Neil, so Neil walked ahead and opened the door for them.

They waited outside for a few seconds after the door swung shut. Neil chewed on his lip a little, wondering whether his earlier truth of not being allowed pets as a child was worth Andrew’s effort to stay awake all night. Neil knew that Andrew didn’t work on Tuesdays—it’s why he had chosen tonight of all nights to ‘lose’ King—and he didn’t _want_ it to be over; he didn’t want tonight to be for nought, all his plans and clues rendered useless, but it was late and people still valued their sleep even on their days off.

Andrew made his mind up before Neil could even ask. He looked up from King’s face and jerked his head to the side. “Come on, then. I thought you wanted to play the neighbourhood superhero?”

* * *

**T** he cat was still curled up in Andrew’s arms when they started walking. Andrew had taken one look at the tag on the cat’s collar and knew he recognised the quote, but he couldn’t yet place where from.

He almost called Nicky again to ask him to look it up, but he didn’t want to risk Nicky finding out what the hell he was doing. Not that Andrew knew what he was doing. He wasn’t altruistic or helpful: he left that shit to Renee, so why Andrew was out trying to find the owner of a missing cat, he didn’t know. It might have been a little to do with the hopeful expression Neil gave him when he asked for help, but Andrew wasn’t that soft. It was only ten percent because of Neil’s pretty face. Nothing more.

As they walked around with no particular direction in mind, their only goal to keep warm as they thought about where the first clue might lead them, Andrew chanted the line of poetry in his head.

_At least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind, At least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind, At least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind—_

Wait.

Why did he know that it was from a poem?

He rifled through his memories of the poems he had read over the course of his life, sorting them alphabetically by poet, but he was still in the As when he gave up. Andrew prefered fiction to poetry, but he had still read a lot.

Andrew drew to a stop, and Neil only took one more step before turning around and cocking his head to the side in question. Andrew ignored him.

 _At least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind_ was the exact kind of bullshit Renee would read. Self-healing and all that.

Andrew resumed his alphabetical search of poems from the anthologies Renee had recommended. There were still a lot, but it was easier when he could remember the details of the day she showed him the books. He remembered the cups of tea, the book covers, the formatted text.

There.

September 27th. Renee’s birthday two years ago. Andrew had given her a new set of earrings identical to the pair she had lost a few months prior. She’d smiled when she opened the little box—with no wrapping paper, at her request, though Andrew wouldn’t have bothered anyway—and told him about how she had prayed to one of her saints, hoping that the earrings would one day return to her. The first pair had been a gift from Stephanie, and she had been upset when she had lost them.

The book cover on the table between them had been plain, but multiple pages had been dog-earred over the years of use. Now he had it in mind, Andrew could recall each page as he had flipped through it every so often, each sitting on a different day in a different place. He could recall pulling the book out of his bag the one time he had agreed to drive Kevin to an Exy game during a particularly bad snow storm and public transport had been affected. He remembered reading through a couple poems to try to lull him back to sleep after waking from a nightmare.

There.

With still trembling fingers, Andrew had propped himself up against his pillows and turned the page to find _Prayer to Saint Anthony for Lost Items._

St. Anthony, perfect imitator of Jesus  
who received from God the special power of restoring lost things  
grant that I may find _[name the item]_ which has been lost.  
At least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind  
the loss of which has afflicted me even more than my material loss.

To this favor, I ask another of you:  
that I may always remain in possession of the true good that is God.  
Let me rather lose all things than lose God, my supreme good.  
Let me never suffer the loss of my greatest treasure  
eternal life with God. Amen.

Andrew had thought that the last paragraph was the worst, but he hadn’t said as much to Renee. Religion wasn’t something they often agreed on, and Renee’s faith never impacted Andrew’s life.

He realised that he still hadn’t moved from where he had stopped still. Neil hadn’t moved much, either. He’d only straightened his neck in the seconds it took Andrew to remember where he recognised the quote on the cat’s collar from.

Neil seemed to notice that Andrew was ~~staring at~~ watching him. “Shall we keep going?” he asked, and jerked his head further down the sidewalk they were heading down.

Andrew shook his head. “We’re going in the wrong direction.”

Neil’s eyes lit up in what Andrew refused to call excitement. It was too late and too cold for that kind of exuberant energy. “Do you know where we’re supposed to go?”

“I think so.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me, or is it a surprise?”

“I hate surprises,” Andrew said, but he didn’t tell Neil where they were going, either.

It didn’t take them long to arrive. _The Nabu Library_ was a surprisingly short building, seemingly on one floor, though Andrew knew that there was a basement used for archiving. The basement also, according to Kevin, contained busts of the deities and important figures of wisdom and learning.

“Where are we?” Neil asked, squinting at the library as if he couldn’t quite focus on it. Andrew briefly wondered what Neil would look like in glasses, and then quickly shut that thought down.

To distract himself he answered, _“Nabu Library.”_

“Why?” Neil asked, turning to look at Andrew.

“Because the quote on the cat’s collar is from a poem about Saint Anthony, the patron saint of lost things. There are no Catholic shrines to him in this city, and there’s no reference of him in the local church. The only place in this city that Saint Anthony exists is in the basement of that library.”

Neil turned back to the building before them and shoved his hands in his pockets. Andrew didn’t have the luxury of shielding his hands from the cold, and instead dug his fingers in the cat’s soft fur to try and steal some of her body heat.

“Have you ever been in?” Neil asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

It was a fair question, Andrew supposed. He had told Neil that he enjoyed reading. A public library seemed like the perfect hideout for someone like Andrew.

“I’m allergic to books,” he said.

Neil rolled his eyes, not believing the outrageous lie for a second, but he didn’t push. Instead he seemed to think about something hard, his eyebrows furrowing a little. “We don’t need to go in. We could check out the church you mentioned just in case someone knows anything.”

Andrew already knew that going to church wouldn’t help. For one, the church wasn’t open in the middle of the night like _The Nabu Library_ was. In fact, it was the library’s all-hour open doors that had made Andrew previously avoid the place. Libraries were supposed to be public places, where one could take refuge from the real world and escape to the worlds within paper, where one could stay when they didn’t want to go back to a house filled with monsters.

At least until closing time.

Andrew ignored Neil’s suggestion and pushed past him toward the main entrance. The door swung open with ease, and Andrew stepped into the welcoming warmth with Neil following close behind.

Andrew expected the librarian to hiss at them and kick them out for bringing a cat inside, and he did flick Andrew a quick glare before his eyes landed on Neil and he seemed to stand down immediately. Andrew wondered whether that was because Neil looked like _that_ or because the scars on his face threatened a story of violence that the librarian didn’t want to read.

Either way, Andrew ignored him as he led the way downstairs to the basement, also ignoring the sign on the door stating that visitors must be accompanied by a member of staff.

The basement wasn’t as pretty as the main floor, but Andrew didn’t pay it much thought as he passed the plaster busts of deities associated with wisdom and historical figures in scholarship and knowledge. Andrew didn’t pick up on the pattern they were ordered in, so he had to read the brass caption underneath each bust before he moved onto the next.

_Ọrunmila, Confucius, Hildegard of Bingen, Saraswati, Tir, Omoikane, Plato, Wenchang Wang, Sappho, Bochica—_

_Anthony of Padua._

Like the others, the bust of Saint Anthony was made of white plaster and moulded with intricate detail, but unlike the other busts, _Anthony of Padua_ was resting atop a spiral bound book. Andrew pushed the cat into Neil’s arms and took the book out from underneath the bust, placing the latter back in back in its place afterwards.

The cover was blank, and Andrew had to flip to the next page to find the title.

NAMES AND POWER  
THE CONCEPT OF SECRET NAMES IN THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST

Underneath the title, someone had handwritten a note in pencil.

_talk to the librarian!_

Andrew thought it odd that both clues linked to books, though he supposed that if the cat belonged to a bookstore owner, or even an avid reader, these clues would be the easiest to leave. As it was, Andrew was also an avid reader, and his best friend owned a secondhand bookstore.

Andrew didn’t believe in coincidences, but he certainly didn’t believe in fate. He doubted that the missing cat had anything to do with him—as that was entirely too improbable—but instead assumed that it was because the city as a whole had a lot of bookstores, and that the district he lived in was relatively close to the library. It was an area full of avid readers. Andrew wasn’t special.

Andrew knew that fate and coincidences didn’t exist, but looking at how excited Neil was with a clue right in front of him, how his eyes lit up and a small smile tugged at his lips, he certainly felt… lucky.

Andrew pushed the book into Neil’s chest as if it contained the reason for that inane line of thought, and didn’t wait for Neil to figure out how to balance both the book and the cat in his arms. He made his way past the busts and toward the stairs, throwing an, “Are you coming?” over his shoulder when he didn’t immediately hear Neil’s following footsteps.

Neil scrambled after him.

The one time Andrew let himself look over, Neil was trying to read the first page by holding the tip of the cover and hanging the rest down, letting gravity do the work as he balanced the cat in his other arm.

“Are we going to ask the librarian?” Neil asked, head still turned at a forty-five degree angle to read.

Andrew didn’t reply. His answer was obvious enough when he stopped at one of the wooden tables and pulled out a chair to sit down.

“Oh,” Neil said, looking between Andrew, the book, and the librarian currently sat behind the reception desk twiddling his thumbs like he had nothing better to do. “But the clue said—”

Andrew hummed. “I didn’t know you were a sucker for rules.”

Neil glared at him as he pulled out the chair opposite Andrew’s, and he sat down with a heavy _plunk._ Andrew ignored him, reaching across the table to snatch the book from Neil’s loose hold, and flipped open the cover once more. The book was spiral bound, so Andrew could easily feed out the pages from its binding and stack them in the sections the author had made: _Introduction, The Power of the Secret Name of Ra, Jacob’s Struggle: The Concept of Secret Names in Genesis, Marduk and the Lack of a Secret Name for the God of Babylon, YHWH and the Power of the Not-so Secret Name,_ and _Conclusions._ He left the bibliography in the binding. He slid half of the sections to Neil’s side of the desk and kept the rest to himself. Neil grabbed a couple pencils from the communal pen pot in the centre of the table, and rolled one over to Andrew.

Andrew turned to the first page of the introduction, and began their hunt for the third clue.

* * *

**I** t was a disaster. Between each page Neil kept glancing over at Andrew and then over Andrew’s shoulder to see Seth giving him questioning looks from where he was sitting behind the reception desk of _The Nabu Library._ Neil didn’t need need a translation when his expression clearly read, _What the fuck, Josten?_ but Seth signed it in ASL just to make sure the message got across.

Neil gave a tiny shake of the head when he was certain Andrew wouldn’t notice, and thankfully Seth had seen because he rolled his head instead of his eyes to make his exasperation known despite the distance. He quickly left his post behind the desk where Neil had asked him to wait until Andrew asked about the book, and set about the tasks he was actually paid to do.

Neil hadn’t known Seth for long while they both worked at _Moriyama Muses,_ but shortly after he left Seth had managed to get a volunteer position at one of the seven community centres, working his way up into different roles until he landed himself the position of librarian at _The Nabu Library._ Neil didn’t remember him as particularly academic, or even professional, but the seven years working for the community had clearly changed something for him. Alongside being a librarian, Seth organised free classes in a multitude of languages, gardening, cooking, and sports, all located within the city’s borders.

Still, Neil was pretty sure Seth only agreed to help with Neil’s plan because he was already going to be at the library and because Monday nights were generally very quiet and very boring.

The _plan_ of course, was that Andrew saw the note, found Seth, and then Seth told him about the secret names of deities. Andrew rarely named his individual art pieces. His refusal to title his found objects showed his determination not to give the viewer a foreclosed interpretation; they had to work out the story of each found object on their own.

Neil remembered being Chris Todd in Massachusetts, reading Shakespeare with his poet Janie Smalls. _What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet._ Janie told him that Shakespeare believed the essence of a person was not in the name but in the person. Neil had tended to agree: it didn’t matter what name he took on, he was still himself underneath all of his lies. Neil had told Seth of this, and had hoped Seth would pass it along to Andrew when Neil himself could not.

It was a lost hope now.

“Do you think names are important?” Neil asked. Andrew looked up from his section of the book but didn’t reply, though the fact that he reacted at all was enough of an invitation to continue. He used his pencil to mark his place in the text and began to read a passage he’d seen earlier. “The name contains the soul of the being that it inhabited. The meaning of the name was a binding on the object or person, and the person or object forever had to live up to the fate defined by the name.” He then jumped a few paragraphs to where the tip of his pencil rested. “In the Ancient Near East, the name is the soul and essence of the person who receives it, and the one who names binds the meaning of the name to the person as a fate or destiny. The only way that fate or destiny can change is if a creature of higher power changes the name.”

Andrew didn’t answer immediately, but the way he kept looking at Neil showed that he was considering it. Neil waited, thinking of how Andrew had refused to name his art pieces in the past. They had been _Untitled,_ and on occasion named only as the object: _Can. Toy rabbit. Button._ In this way, Neil thought, these items wouldn’t have their fate decided for them. Each found object started and stayed at base zero: being lost, and Andrew wouldn’t be the man who tied them to a destiny they weren’t meant for. People could choose names for themselves, as Neil had proven twenty-two times, but objects could not.

“In foster care my name was Andrew Doe,” Andrew said. “My ‘fate’, my ‘destiny’, was to be abandoned. My name made decisions for me that I wasn’t old enough to understand. I changed my name to Minyard when I met Aaron.”

“Did your fate change?” Neil asked.

“I don’t believe in fate.”

Neil hummed. He wanted to tell Andrew that he knew what Andrew meant. The name Wesninski made decisions for him too. His ‘soul’ or ‘essence’, if he had one, wasn’t determined by his name. He was more than what his parents had made of him; he had to be. He wanted to channel some of Andrew’s strength, to become ‘Neil Josten’ for real. He let himself daydream, if only for a moment, about skipping to the third section of the book and showing Andrew the part about the power of secret names, telling Andrew ‘Abram’ and hearing it repeated back to him.

But he knew that wasn’t possible, because Neil was Neil, and that was the last direction his thoughts needed to take.

So Neil didn’t answer. He didn’t give Andrew the truths he wanted to give, and focused on the task at hand. Neil knew they were looking for a clue that didn’t exist, because Neil hadn’t written one. He started turning the pages faster, under the guise of skim-reading. When he reached the section of secrets kept by the gods, he looked up at Andrew.

Neil didn’t know if Andrew was aware how he looked when he concentrated. He sat on the chair with one leg pulled up to his chest, an arm wrapped around it as the other reached out to where King was lying on the desk. Andrew scratched behind her ears as he leaned over to read, and King was purring from his ministrations. Slightly furrowed eyebrows was the only definable difference from Andrew’s usually blank expression, but Neil still couldn’t make himself look away. He wished he had taken some of the drawing classes with his past assignments, because a strange, new part of him wanted to be able to remember this moment forever.

Neil forced his gaze back down to the paper in front of him, and he traced his pencil around a block of text, light enough that the sound of graphite on paper didn’t alert Andrew to what he was doing.

The handwriting he affected was not his own, but a copy of Allison’s cursive style, so Andrew wouldn’t be able to guess that both the useless scribblings and the actual hint to the final location of King’s ‘home’ were written by the same hand.

“Hey,” Neil whispered, once he was sure that the graphite wouldn’t smudge if either of them touched it. “I found something.”

Andrew looked up, and King chirped when his hand stilled. Andrew looked over at her, but instead of continuing to pet her, he pulled his hand back to himself and reached for Neil’s section of the book with the other. Neil didn’t need to read upside down to know what the note said.

_Onini, Osebo, Mmoboro Hornets, Mmoatia_

Andrew hummed, but that was it. There was no revelation, no eureka, no, “Neil, you’re a genius. This is it!”

Neil hadn’t really expected one, but it would have been nice. If Andrew had gone to Seth like the first note had told him to, and heard the tale of how stories had been kept from humanity until the Ghanan god Anansi gave them to humanity, the list of creatures would have made a lot more sense.

“I don’t get it,” Neil said, as if he too were baffled. “Is it supposed to be a riddle?” _No._ “Are they names?” _Yes._ “Did you find anything in your sections?”

Andrew only answered the last question. “No.” He drummed his fingers a few times, and then stood up.

Neil scooped King up into his arms, and just managed to smother the grin that threatened to break out. _He solved it!_ he thought, though that too was soon cut short when he realised Andrew wasn’t heading out of the library, but toward the row of old computers.

Andrew must have seen something in his expression. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little more research.”

* * *

**T** he computers in the library were huge, outdated things, but at least they were free to use and had a working internet connection.

Andrew opened up—god, Internet Explorer—and waited for the browser to load. It took a while. Neil pulled a chair over and plonked down beside him, the cat sat in his lap in a loaf-like position. One hand was stroking the length of the cat’s back, the other was fiddling with a flash drive someone had left behind.

“What do you think’s on it?” Neil asked.

Andrew flicked a look to the flash drive in Neil’s nimble fingers. It was plain, blue without any logos or stickers, and attached to a metal keyring. Andrew was fairly certain that the keyring was there so you could attach it to your keys and therefore _not_ leave it behind by a library computer, but he didn’t care enough to make a comment about it.

He certainly wouldn’t follow a series of clues to lead him to the flash drive’s owner, just so he could make some benal comment about not losing things.

He didn’t let himself dwell on why he was still going along with this cat scavenger hunt, and instead thought about Neil’s question.

“Encrypted messages to the president,” he said.

Neil hummed in consideration. “Likely. That’s why it’s blue: democrat owned.”

“They’re trying to be subtle though. It lacks branding.”

“Maybe they’re missile plans.”

“Or the codes to break out of the Pentagon.”

“You don’t need codes for that,” Neil said, as if he personally had broken out of the Pentagon.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Just need to slow down your pulse enough and stop breathing. Plus a handful of inside men to sneak you out in a body bag.”

“A handful? They don’t sound very good if you need more than one.”

Neil grinned. “Ah, so if _you_ were to break me out of the Pentagon, you’re saying you could do it alone? No-one to watch your back?”

Andrew scoffed at the idea. “What’s the point in watching my back when it’s you they’re after.”

Neil’s smile dimmed a little, and he looked thoughtful about something. “I’d watch your back regardless.” He reached out and stroked the cat’s head before Andrew could reply with something snarky and biting. “Maybe we could watch each other's backs as we break her out.”

Andrew didn’t comment about Neil wanting to watch his back. He swallowed around a strange lump in his throat—dismissing it as a newfound allergy to cats—and asked, “What would she be imprisoned for?”

If he had asked Nicky, he would have said something like purrjury or drug manucaturing, but it was Neil, so he said, “Embezzlement. She’s an enemy of the crown.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “We don’t have a monarchy.”

“Not that you know of,” Neil said. “The encrypted flash drive says otherwise.”

“What happened to the Pentagon?”

“They’re related. There’s the United States’ royal family locked in the Pentagon, and these—” he waved the flash drive, “—are the codes to break them out. King was the one to capture them in the first place.” He paused, and if Andrew didn’t know any better he would have thought it a look of realising he had said something he shouldn’t have. He blinked and continued as if that pause hadn’t existed. “King Fluffkins,” he said, and raised the cat’s front paw in a wave. “Enemy of the crown.”

The web browser finally finished loading, and Andrew typed the list of—names? species?— from the book into the search bar.

The first search result looked promising, so Andrew clicked it. Of course, a sand timer icon showed up and Andrew let it load at an unbearably slow pace, and turned his head slightly to watch Neil out of the corner of his eye. He was playing with… _King Fluffkins,_ now lying on her back in a vulnerable position that displayed her belly. Andrew knew it took a lot of trust for a cat to do that, so she must have had quite the sheltered life for her to be like that around a man she’d only known for an evening.

But then Andrew’s thoughts drifted to their first night at _The Foxhole Court,_ trusting Neil with his secrets because he knew he would gain one of equal weight. He wondered if it wasn’t something about King, but rather something about _Neil._ Whether there was something so inherently trustworthy about him that others couldn’t resist lying down on their backs and demanding a belly rub.

Andrew tightened his fingers around the computer mouse, angry with himself. He was _not_ a cat, and he certainly hadn’t lived a sheltered life.

The web page finished loading, and Andrew turned away from Neil and the stupidly trusting cat, and began to read.

It was a story of a West African deity, Anansi, who was bored by the world as it was, because people had no stories to tell. Anansi’s father, the sky-god Nyame, kept them all in a box in the sky. Anansi, taking the form of spider, climbed up to the sky on a silken thread he had spun, and asked to give those stories to humanity. Nyame agreed, on the condition that Anansi brought four creatures to him: Onini, a huge python; Osebo, a hungry leopard; the deadly Mmoboro Hornets; and the invisible fairy Mmoatia, infamous for her pride, greed, and quick temper. It was supposed to be an impossible task, and Nyame laughed when Anansi left, knowing that his son would not complete the challenge. Nevertheless, Anansi tricked each of the creatures and brought them back to his father. Nyame, keeping his word, presented Anansi the box containing all the stories of the world, and Anansi gave the stories to humanity.

“Where next?” Neil asked, once Andrew closed the web page.

Andrew looked at King and wondered whether it was worth it, but then shoved that thought aside. She had a home to return to, someone who was actively looking for her, ~~like Andrew used to wish someone had done for him.~~ He reached over and picked her up from Neil’s lap so Neil could stand up, but didn’t give her back. He cradled the soft warmth of her to his chest as he pushed down his rising anxiety of what was to come.

 _“Sky Tower,”_ Andrew said. “We’re paying _Spider Tales Publishing_ a visit.”

Neil didn’t disagree with him, or suggest any other locations. He just accepted Andrew’s answer and saw no reason to fight it. “Okay.”

When they left the library, earning a scowl from the librarian for leaving the computer switched on—though Andrew had no plans to wait another ten minutes as it shut down each web page—Andrew’s phone began to ring. He shuffled King into the crook of his elbow as he made a grab for it. He only picked it up because he recognised the song.

Andrew pressed the phone to his ear. “Renee.”

Andrew could almost hear her smile, probably because of some bullshit theory that Andrew said her name because he was acknowledging her. Andrew knew that it was bullshit because the only reason he didn’t do this to Nicky was because Nicky _talked_ so much. Renee would just wait him out in silence until they’d both exceeded their contract minutes.

_“Did I wake you? I was hoping to talk to you tonight, but Kevin seems to think you’ve gone missing. He was getting worried when his calls didn’t go through.”_

Andrew didn’t mention that he’d had Kevin’s number blocked over the last two days because Kevin had finished the milk without buying a new carton. “Tell Kevin to stop fretting and go find his boyfriends if he needs someone to babysit.”

_“I’ll pass on your advice. Are you busy? I’m craving something sweet, but it can wait until tomorrow. Breakfast, perhaps?”_

Andrew wasn’t entirely sure how to put it into words, and he looked at King’s inquisitive face for inspiration. _Making a fool of myself,_ was the most honest answer, but Andrew gave her the simplest. “I’m looking for the owner of a stray cat.”

Renee hummed, and Andrew considered the likelihood that she would think Andrew had been abducted, only able to give her coded messages. Rescuing strays hardly fell into his daily routine.

 _“I think that’s very in character for you, Andrew,”_ Renee said.

Andrew blinked, but he didn’t let his surprise show on his face. He flicked a look to Neil, but he was leaning back to stare up at the night sky. Andrew could have followed his gaze up to the constellations but instead his attention caught on the column of Neil’s neck as it curved up to the stars. He couldn’t look away from the twin freckles to the side of his jugular, just above the crook where his neck would meet his shoulder.

_“Andrew?”_

Andrew redirected his gaze to the grey building in front of him. “I’ll tell Kevin that you called him a mangy cat.”

_“I believe you used the word ‘stray’.”_

“Mangy is implied.”

Renee laughed, softly and at the expense of Kevin, which made the corner of Andrew’s lips twitch. He wiped it away with his thumb. “Will you need a hand?”

“The cat’s not that fat,” Andrew said, which made Renee laugh again and Neil look down from the stars. Neil raised an eyebrow in question but Andrew ignored it. “We’ll be at Breksta’s.”

_“We?”_

Andrew hung up, and rebalanced King so he held her to his chest with both arms.

“Who was that?” Neil asked with some trepidation. Andrew’s interest perked at the suspicion, but he didn’t ask. It was likely to come up again, likely accompanied by explanation. Andrew wouldn’t waste a question in their truth game on something he could find out for free.

“Renee. She’s altruistic enough to help on a work night.”

Neil didn’t look thrilled at the company, which Andrew filed away for later. When he first met Neil Josten he had hoped that he’d be a temporary replacement for Roland, but Roland had since returned and Andrew had ignored the couple messages asking if Andrew wanted to go down to _Eden’s Twilight_ to see him. Now, Neil was too interesting to waste on a quick way to get off. He was a puzzle, an enigma, and it had been a long time since he had wanted to spend time with a stranger. The last had been Renee, and she stopped being a stranger to him years ago.

“What would you set my ringtone as, then?” Neil asked.

Andrew couldn’t figure out Neil’s motivation for asking, considering the obvious: “I don’t have your number.”

“Do you want it?”

Andrew flicked through the responses he could have given him. _I don’t want anything,_ would have been his unhesitating response three years ago. _What would I want your number for?_ would pull Andrew out of the limbo of not knowing what Neil wanted from him.

Andrew went with neither of those. The only upside of the limbo was that he could torture himself with Neil’s company indefinitely. As soon as Neil gave him a no, Andrew would leave without hesitation. He just shrugged, and held out his phone. Having the same model, Neil knew how to find the contacts and create his own. Neil passed it back a minute later, and Andrew guessed that half of that time had been spent typing his name: 6633444555 5666777783366. Andrew slipped his phone back into his coat pocket, and set off in the direction of _Breksta’s._

“Hey!” Neil called, not having moved since giving Andrew a way of contacting him, giving him a distinct impression that Neil _wanted_ Andrew to contact him. Andrew ignored those thoughts just as he ignored Neil. Neil would catch up eventually.

He did, and slowed his pace to match Andrew’s. Neil had longer legs than Andrew did, but Andrew had spent the better part of five years keeping up with Kevin.

“What are you going to set my ringtone as?” Neil asked.

Andrew didn’t look at him, eyes trained on the pavement ahead of him. “Find out for yourself.”

“I can’t call you if I don’t have your number.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Andrew didn’t know what to do with the huff of exasperation that Neil let out. He’d sounded almost _fond,_ and it wasn’t anything like the reactions Andrew was used to. Bee, Renee, Kevin, and Nicky were all accustomed to Andrew’s type of humour and communication, but only Bee had picked up on it so quickly, and that was because she had been trained to.

Neil was like a—

A neon sign for the diner interrupted his thoughts before he could make a fool of himself and think the word _pipedream._

 _Breksta’s_ stood before them, an all-night diner Andrew had spent many hours in after waking from unrelenting nightmares. Andrew pushed open the door and past its illuminative sentry.

They slid into a booth, Neil taking the seat opposite Andrew. King took the opportunity to scramble out of Andrew’s arms and onto the table between them, using the height advantage to sniff at Neil’s nose. Neil wasn’t bothered by it, scrunching up his nose a little when King’s tongue darted out to lick it.

A waiter came over—unfortunately not the owner herself, but one of her part-time employees—pen at the ready to scrawl down their order. When he saw King, he used the pen to point accusatively at Andrew, like Andrew had been the one to find the stray.

“You can’t bring your cat in here.”

“Not my cat,” Andrew said.

The pen shifted to point at Neil, but Neil only looked up from the menu—which he only pulled out of its holder when he realised the waiter was coming over—and said, “Just a black coffee, thanks.”

The waiter’s face scrunched up in a scowl, and Andrew thought Neil looked considerably better when it came to nose-scrunching. Andrew then made a face at himself, checked the time on the large clock hanging on the far wall—02:00—and blamed his ridiculousness on sleep deprivation.

“The cat,” the waiter said through clenched teeth.

“No, thank you. Just a coffee.” Neil handed the laminated menu over to the waiter with a smile. It pulled at his scars a little, and Andrew wondered if they hurt and how Neil got them.

The waiter snatched the menu out of Neil’s outstretched hand, glaring at King, and flicked a look at Andrew. He blanched at the sight of Andrew’s knife, slipped free from its sheath in his left armband.

“Pancakes with syrup,” Andrew said, turning the knife over and over between his fingers for show. He just wanted to talk to Neil and eat something sweet, yet this waiter was determined to put a dent in his evening plans. “Consider the amount of syrup you think I want, and double it.”

The waiter snapped his notebook closed, and spun on his heel to storm back to the kitchens. It reminded Andrew of Kevin, and he briefly wondered how Kevin would react if Andrew brought back a cat to their apartment.

Andrew slipped his knife away again, and looked over at Neil to find Neil eyeing his armband with apprehension.

“It’s not that fascinating,” Andrew said, watching carefully for Neil’s reaction.

“No,” Neil agreed, which sounded like ten percent of the truth.

Andrew didn’t know what Neil’s past was in regard to knives, but one only needed to look at the scars marring his cheek to guess that there _was_ something. Andrew didn’t need to dwell on it for long, as Neil’s words slowly came to form. “It’s just…” he seemed to grasp for words, eyes darting around the empty café in search of eavesdroppers. “Well, you’ve seen my scars.”

Andrew had, and he didn’t think they stopped at Neil’s face or hands. Andrew had his own scars, but he knew that he wouldn’t offer that as a truth without an equal exchange. He considered revealing them in exchange for the story of Neil’s, but he didn’t want to explain the reasons of their existence.

He revealed a different truth instead, not one of physical scars but nevertheless one of lasting damage.

“I was on court-mandated drugs for three years,” he said. “Four people attacked Nicky and I was deemed a danger to society because I stopped them.” Andrew kept his face neutral as he assessed Neil’s reaction. He hadn’t expected an exaggerated response, but at least a flinch. He hadn’t anticipated Neil’s… _nothingness._ Neil didn’t react at all. It was like he dealt with death every moment of every day. Andrew filed that away for later examination, but he’d save that question for another day. He wondered momentarily when he’d started to expect seeing Neil in the future, but his thoughts were cut off when Neil began to speak.

“My father was not a good man,” he started, “His favourite weapon was a cleaver, and before that, an axe. He used to teach me before my mom ran away with me when I was ten. I was supposed to follow in his footsteps, his perfect replacement; we had the same name, the same face, but I failed. I never understood why he liked knives so much.”

“He will lose his taste when he has one in his gut.”

They’d settled into a comfortable silence by the time the waiter came back with Andrew’s pancakes and Neil’s disgustingly bitter coffee. King had settled back into Andrew’s lap, which he was feeling a little smug about. Neil seemed amused by her favouritism, and likely a little grateful for the distraction from his past. It wasn’t long before the café door opened and Renee walked in. As if unwilling to break the calm, she shut the door quietly behind her rather than letting it swing shut on its own.

She spotted them easily, since the café was otherwise empty, and took the seat next to Andrew. She smiled warmly at Neil, though the latter was immediately put on edge by her presence. The calm Andrew and Neil shared shattered, but Andrew found it infinitely interesting that Neil could see past Renee’s modest clothes and silver cross at her throat.

“Hello, my name is Renee Walker.”

“I know.”

Renee smiled, and shot an amused but nonetheless fond look toward Andrew. “I’m afraid Andrew kept you to himself.”

Andrew could almost see Neil thinking of a way out, but eventually he said, “Neil Josten.”

Renee smiled her warmest smile, and Andrew wondered how long it would take Neil to realise that it was genuine. “It’s lovely to meet you, Neil.”

Neil only nodded, and distracted himself with his coffee. Andrew was fairly certain that the dregs left in Neil’s mug were cold now, but he didn’t point it out. Instead, he gave Neil a way out and didn’t let himself think _why._ He turned to Renee. “The pancakes are good.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Renee said, sliding out of their booth. “I’ll just be a moment.”

She took Andrew’s menu with her to the bar, and waited while they prepared her order.

Neil set his empty mug down. Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if he picked it up again once Renee came back. “How do you know each other?”

Andrew knew what he was thinking: it was the same thing everyone thought when they saw the pair of them together: _what is a girl like her doing with a guy like him?_ It didn’t help that most people assumed they were together, but Andrew supposed that their judgement wasn’t exclusive for romantic relationships. It wasn’t like they’d suddenly become supportive once they realised their relationship was entirely platonic.

“We studied at university together,” Andrew said, which wasn’t a lie. They did attend the same university, though they were separated by year group. He waited for Renee’s return to add, “We were on the same sports team.”

Neil’s eyes lit up, but he schooled his expression into something more placid when Renee set her banana split on the table and sat down next to Andrew again.

“I saw this on the menu and I couldn’t resist,” Renee said, as if that wasn’t self-explanatory by its presence on the table. Andrew only hummed in acknowledgement.

Andrew and Renee continued chatting, with Renee throwing Neil questions to invite him into the conversation and Neil giving suspiciously vague answers.

Neil barely waited for Renee to set her spoon down onto her empty plate before he slid out of the booth, throwing a twenty dollar bill onto the table. Andrew eyed it suspiciously. Neil’s coffee didn’t cost more than two-dollars, and he didn’t like the idea of Neil paying for him without asking.

Andrew took out a ten dollar bill from his wallet and left it on the table, and let Neil’s twenty cover Renee’s banana split if he was so insistent on his generosity. Neil didn’t look particularly wealthy, but he acted like he had no concept of monetary value. He had the same attitude about money that Kevin did, and Kevin grew up with everything he ever asked for.

Well, except for a life away from Riko’s abuse. Perhaps Neil had his own Moriyama to balance out the unlimited cash. Andrew dismissed that theory as quickly as it came. Kevin rarely talked about the other half of the Moriyamas, but Andrew knew enough to know that Neil was too much a nobody to be involved with deities.

* * *

**N** eil was certain that Renee suspected him, though of what, he wasn’t sure. She just had that air of suspicion surrounding her, even when King was traitorously calm in her arms. Or maybe he was projecting again. Renee seemed interesting enough at first glance, with her unusual hairstyle, but he knew that there had to be something underneath the veneer of conservative clothes.

She also seemed to pick up on the fact that his fabricated personality wasn’t the whole story, either. Whenever he spoke, and often when he didn’t, her gaze was searching. Neil couldn’t hold her stare for long. He wanted to ask her why she and Andrew got along so well, but he was worried that if she mentioned playing sports together Andrew would pick up on Neil’s interest again. Or, he corrected himself, _Abram’s_ interest. ‘Neil’ hated sports.

He was certain that Renee was somehow going to ruin his plans for the evening, but he knew how to work with limitations. It was just the challenge he wasn’t expecting.

The walk to _Sky Tower_ wasn’t long, and they could see the glass tip of its roof almost as soon as they left _Breksta’s._ It was a ninety-six storey skyscraper, housing business offices, two restaurants, and a penthouse at the peak. Neil didn’t know who lived there, and he was pretty sure no one knew.

Andrew stopped when they reached the double-doors of the north entrance, straining his neck to look up to the top of the tower. Renee and King had already gone inside, but Neil followed Andrew’s gaze and watched one of the four glass elevators descend from the top floor.

_“What are you afraid of?”_

_“Heights.”_

“If it makes you feel any better,” Neil started, “that theory about jumping before the elevator crashes isn’t true. Even if you had perfect timing, you’d still hit the ground at the same speed as the elevator did. Your best bet would be to lie flat on the floor to spread out the force of the impact.”

Andrew stilled, and turned to face Neil. “What was his name?” At Neil’s confusion, Andrew clarified, “Your father. What was his name?”

Neil felt someone grab hold of his lungs and _pull._ He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to morph his lips around his father’s name even if it didn’t reveal his own, but Andrew had given Neil _Andrew Doe._ It was Neil’s turn.

He tried to take comfort in that Andrew only asked because Neil’s taunt had gotten to him, or that at least Renee wasn’t going to overhear, but the name still burned his tongue when he replied, “Nathan. His name was Nathan.”

“You don’t look like a Nathan.”

He didn’t know whether he looked like a Neil either, but he wasn’t going to ask. “I’m not. I’m Nathaniel.”

Andrew looked at him with a considering expression for a little while longer, before pushing past him. He knocked their shoulders together as he did, and headed inside to find Renee and King. Neil stayed outside a minute longer, needing that time to get that sick ache out of his veins before following him inside.

He found Andrew and Renee waiting outside the north elevator. Renee smiled when she saw him, but Neil couldn’t bring himself to smile back. He didn’t think he had it in him to smile at even Matt right now, if he miraculously appeared around the corner.

The elevator announced its arrival with the automated bell that rang when the doors opened. The three of them stepped inside, and Neil was glad that even if the elevator _did_ break, there was plenty of room to stretch out for the hours they’d have to wait for someone to get to them.

Of course, when the elevator reached the fifth floor, the glass walls finally fulfilled their purpose. The skyline of the city started to stretch out before them, and Neil saw Andrew’s shoulders tensing from where he stood beside him.

Neil didn’t dare look over, not wanting to alert Renee to Andrew’s fear in the off chance she didn’t know already, but he knew he had to do _something._ So he did what he did best, and opened his mouth.

Andrew ignored Neil’s inane chattering, and Neil wasn’t sure if it was because he was talking about math, or because he was talking in general. Renee stayed quiet, too, though Neil supposed that was more in silent support of Andrew than anything else. When the elevator pulled to a stop, Andrew ignored him then, too.

 _Spider Tales Publishing_ was located on the eighty-second floor. They stepped out of the elevator and walked up to the reception desk, where a blonde woman was reading a magazine with her feet propped up on the desk next to a potted plant.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Allison asked, though she was looking at Renee.

“My friends here found a cat,” Renee said, “and followed a series of clues that lead them here.”

Neil expected Allison to raise an eyebrow. _Clues,_ she would echo derisively, _from a lost cat._ But instead, she peered over the desk to spot King in Renee’s arms and put her magazine down. Neil was almost certain he saw Renee swallow hard on something when Allison uncrossed her legs and stood up.

Allison walked over, ignoring Neil even though he had asked her to pose as an employee. She had had to get back in touch with an author she had been a Muse for years ago, who was now a junior editor at _Spider Tales Publishing,_ and she’d managed to convince him to lend her his key.

Allison stroked King’s head, staring unabashedly at Renee as she did so, until she finally stopped flirting and checked the tag on King’s collar like Neil had instructed her to.

“At least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind,” she read.

Renee seemed to startle at the words, but Neil desperately hoped she wouldn’t say something stupid like, _I’m surprised anyone would recognise that. Doesn’t King’s owner actually want her back?_

“I’m surprised anyone would recognise that,” Renee said. “Doesn’t King’s owner actually want her back?”

Neil wanted to put his head in his hands, but he shoved them into his pockets instead.

Allison smiled. “King?”

Of course, Neil hadn’t told her that Andrew would come to know King’s name. It was a slip-up he hadn’t anticipated. “King Fluffkins,” Neil said. “Enemy to the crown.”

Both Allison and Renee sent him curious looks, though Allison’s was considerably more mocking. Andrew just looked at him blankly, potentially considering his murder. Neil paid it no mind.

Allison hummed, and turned back to Renee. “‘King’ doesn’t have an owner, per se. She just lives in _Sky Tower._ She’s on our floor so much that we gave her a collar, but she never really had a name.” She paused, as if in thought. “I suppose King Fluffkins works as well as any.”

“Names are powerful things,” Renee said quietly, as if that hadn’t been part of their entire evening.

Neil didn’t entirely understand why she said that until Allison smiled again and held out her hand. “Allison Reynolds.”

Renee accepted her hand. “Renee Walker.”

“Enchanté,” Allison said.

Neil tuned out the rest of their conversation when he noticed Andrew had gone back toward the elevators. He hadn’t pressed the button, though, and was instead staring out the floor to ceiling window. Neil stepped beside him, and looked out at the view of the city beneath them.

“If you’re afraid of heights,” Neil started, “why are you looking down from the eighty-second floor?”

Andrew raised two fingers to his own neck, finding his pulse. He tapped his fingers against his throat when he did, and Neil saw that his pulse was faster than it should be. Neil blamed it on their environment, empty-handed for another reason.

“Feeling,” Andrew said at length.

“Fear?” Neil asked.

“Anything. When I came off my drugs, I had to be several floors above ground to feel something.”

Neil hummed. “It’s your turn.”

Andrew pulled his carton of cigarettes from his coat pocket, and fingered out two, passing one over to Neil. Neither of them lit them yet, and Neil stuck his behind his ear while Andrew kept his in hand.

“I do not have to take it now,” Andrew said, and gave the view one last look before heading back to _Spider Tales Publishing_ and stopping at Renee’s side. When Neil caught up, he saw Allison and Renee exchanging numbers.

He was unsurprised by Allison’s interest in Renee, but he was surprised by how the interest was reflected in Renee’s expression. Especially considering that _Andrew was right there._ Did she not care for Andrew’s feelings at all? One glance at Andrew’s blank face told Neil that he was used to this, and Neil felt a surge of anger on Andrew’s behalf.

It didn’t diminish when it drew Andrew’s attention. If anything, his bemused expression solidified Neil’s rage. Andrew was so unused to anyone wanting to stand up for him that he was entertained by the concept.

“Renee, stop flirting,” Andrew said. “Neil’s getting jealous.”

Allison scoffed. “Neil doesn’t _do_ jealous. That’s his indignant face.” She turned and leaned into Renee’s space a little. “Cute, right?”

“I’m not the best judge of character on that,” Renee said, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, displaying shades of pink and orange underneath.

_Oh._

Neil’s anger fizzled out, and Andrew watched it happen with a quirked eyebrow. Neil refused to meet his gaze and stared at the wall like it was the most interesting thing he’d seen all day. Renee didn’t let him stew in his embarrassment for long. She wished Allison a good night, and led the way back to the elevators. Neil was quick to follow, and pushed the elevator button three times for good measure.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as the elevator made its descent. He fished it out, making sure neither Andrew nor Renee would be able to read anything before opening Allison’s message.

  
**Allison:** you owe me. your cat keeps trying to eat my plant  
  


She had attached a photo of the spider plant sitting atop the reception desk. A long green leaf hung from King’s mouth despite her look of indifference. Neil put his phone away without replying.

When they reached the ground floor, Andrew was the last to leave the elevator. Neil was certain it was because he’d noticed the looks Neil kept giving him throughout the descent, and wanted to prove that he was unaffected by the fall.

“It’s getting late,” Renee said as they stepped outside, “and I have to open my bookshop at eight.”

Andrew nodded, cigarette between his lips as he lit it, shielding it from the wind with his hands. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and held it between two fingers. “I’ll walk you home.”

Renee smiled gratefully, and turned to Neil. “Do you want to come? I don’t know if it’s on the way for you or not.”

Neil shrugged, tucking his own cigarette into his pocket for safekeeping as he couldn’t keep it alight if they were walking. He had nothing better to do with his evening, though he’d recorded the Sirens v Phoenixes game earlier. He’d planned to watch it when he got home, but it could wait until the following morning when he was more awake to appreciate it.

“I’ll come.”

Renee smiled, and if he didn’t now know that Renee and Andrew weren’t an item, he’d think she was overcompensating for Neil third-wheeling.

The walk to Renee’s apartment wasn’t long, but Andrew and Renee filled it with contingency plans for a hurricane. Neil didn’t contribute much, preferring to listen, but they both paid attention to the tidbits on survival techniques that he’d picked up from six years on the run with his mother.

Renee apparently lived in the flat above her secondhand bookshop. It was the sort of thing Neil occasionally found himself daydreaming about. On the run, his mother had never let them live too close to Neil’s school because it would be too easy to be seen, too easy for classmates to work out where he lived. At the time, he was too terrified to consider the alternative, but now Neil had stopped running, his father’s grave four years old, Neil couldn’t help but _want_ to have that connection. To live so close to his place of work was marking out a place for your existence in the world. It wasn’t necessarily the proximity that he liked the idea of, as Neil had always liked running and he had been raised away from any form of laziness, but it was the closeness that he craved. The confidence in his safety that he could go back on one of his mother’s lessons without a single regret.

While his contract with the Moriyamas still existed, the daydream remained a daydream. He knew Ichirou had protected him from his father, but the Moriyamas were a threat of their own.

Renee opened the door to _Walker Way With A Book,_ but it was Andrew who stepped in first. He ignored them in favour of heading further into the shop, knowing his way around the aisles despite the darkness. Renee hung up her coat and didn’t bother turning the lights on. Neil could see her face clearly enough from the streetlamp outside, and she was eyeing Neil with curiosity.

From an assigned artist, Neil would take this as progress.

From Renee, this felt like a threat.

“Andrew and I have known each other for six years. He’s less interested in the person I’m trying to be than he is the person I used to be. He and I have more in common than you think. That’s why I make you uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

Neil wasn’t entirely sure what she was getting at; it wasn’t her relationship to Andrew that made him uncomfortable. He didn’t care who she was to him. “You make me uncomfortable because you don’t make sense. I don’t understand you.”

“You could ask.”

“Is it really that easy?”

“I’m not proud of my past, but I can’t heal if I hide it. We could get a cup of coffee and talk about anything you like. Right now, though…” She braced herself against the wall as she tugged off one boot. “All I want is to go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

Neil nodded, and looked in the direction Andrew went. He heard the tell tale sound of her other boot hitting the floor before Andrew came into view again. He had a book in his hand. “Borrowing this,” he said to Renee, flashing her the cover.

It was too dark for Neil to read the title, but Renee seemed to recognise it regardless. “Let me know what you think,” she said. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

Andrew nodded, and gestured for Neil to open the door. Neil took the opportunity to escape with haste, though Andrew followed him out only a few moments later.

Renee locked the door behind them, and waved goodbye through the glass. Andrew only watched her, not returning the wave, until she disappeared into the darkness of her shop. He then turned to Neil. “Where do you live?”

Neil supposed that Andrew was only asking to see if his apartment was on the way to Andrew’s, but Neil still tensed at the question. The possibility of Andrew seeing Neil’s apartment would only invite interrogation. It was easy to say that Neil didn’t bother furnishing his apartment since he spent so little time in it, but then Andrew would ask where he spent his time instead, since Neil had already lied about what he did to make a living. If Neil said he stayed over with friends more often than not, then Andrew would suspect why he was so cagey around strangers and never mentioned these so-called friends. More than anything else, Neil didn’t want to think about the threadbare mattress in an otherwise empty apartment. Even with the cats it felt lonely, and tonight the thought of spending another second there, with Sir staying with Matt, felt isolating.

“I don’t—” He took a deep breath and tried again. “Can we hang out a little longer? I don’t want to go home yet.”

“It’s freezing,” Andrew pointed out. “Everywhere is closed.”

Neil nodded at the dismissal, and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see you around, Andrew.”

He turned to head back the direction he came from, toward his apartment of isolation, but stopped at the sound of his name. He turned around again to see that Andrew hadn’t moved.

Andrew nodded over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Neil stifled the grin that threatened to break, and caught up with Andrew faster than he had earlier that evening. If Andrew asked, Neil would blame the cold.

Neil thought the walk to wherever Andrew was taking him would be spent in silence, but instead the two exchanged small truths until Andrew stopped in front of twin black doors. A FOR LEASE sign was strapped to the iron gates, though that was clearly for the empty shop on the ground floor. Andrew climbed the three steps to the door on the right, and jimmied his key in the lock until it clicked.

The door opened to a narrow flight of stairs, and they were both out of breath when they reached the third floor.

Andrew and Kevin’s apartment was a lot messier than Neil expected. A large black couch sat in front of a flatscreen television, but what took up the majority of the floorspace were stacks upon stacks of cardboard boxes.

Neil wanted to ask, but didn’t get the chance to: as soon as Andrew walked in he turned the TV on. Whoever had watched television last had left it on a sports channel, and Exy players raced across Andrew’s television screen. The Houston Sirens were in the lead.

Neil forced his eyes away, and instead watched as Andrew made his way around the room, weaving in and out of boxes as he turned on a lamp and went through a doorway to what Neil assumed was the kitchen. He came out a few minutes later with two steaming mugs, and he passed one to Neil, containing black coffee.

Neil nursed the hot mug in his cold hands, and waited for Andrew to sit down on the couch before joining him. He kicked off his shoes and brought his knees up to his chest, back to the armrest so he could face away from the Exy game and toward Andrew.

Andrew ignored him in favour of watching the game. He didn’t look at Neil when he said, “Jenkins’ footwork is sloppy.”

“Oh?” Neil asked, but he kept his tone to a disinterested one. _Neil didn’t like sports. Neil didn’t like sports. Neil didn’t—_

Andrew hummed, but didn’t say anything more, seemingly more interested in the game. Neil kept glancing over, noticing the score change, but pretended to be more interested in Andrew’s apartment.

It was hard.

Neil had been obsessed with Exy since he was a child, when his mother had signed him up for Little Leagues where he played under his middle name. Since she had taken him away from his father, he’d had to learn how to obsess from afar, but he’d never had the sport taunt him quite so much as it was now.

He didn’t let himself look at the television screen, and instead counted to ten in as many languages as he could. Andrew got up again once both their mugs were empty and cold, but he left the television on as he went to the kitchen to wash up. Neil almost wished for a power cut just to end his torture; he didn’t know if he could feign disinterest for much longer.

He decided to stare at Andrew’s bookcase instead, and examine the contents— _and it looks like the Sirens are on form tonight. Lee passes to Henderson. Henderson to_ —there didn’t seem to be any particular pattern to their organisation, or if there was, Neil couldn’t figure it out— _that was a harsh check from Engles. Quite typical of an ex-Raven_ —Neil didn’t recognise most of the titles, but he hadn’t expected to. He was curious about the English to German dictionary on the second shelf, since its spine was fraying at the top and base as if it had been pulled out of its shelf considerably more than other books— _and Agassi is taking the penalty, he passes to Patel_ —Andrew came back and leant on the back of the couch, watching the game over Neil’s shoulder. Neil kept his eyes trained on the bookcase.

“Patel is gonna score in the top left corner,” Andrew said.

Neil hummed, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Andrew’s prediction come true. He desperately wanted to ask, _How could you tell?_ but Neil wasn’t interested in Exy.

A few seconds later, Neil heard the commentators narrate the Phoenix’s back to the Sirens’ goal. “Leverett is going to aim for the bottom right, but she’s going to miss.”

“Is that one of the rules?” Neil made himself ask. “The strikers have to follow a pattern of where to aim?”

Andrew hummed a non-answer, which annoyed Neil more than it should have done. If someone had asked Neil that he might have strangled them.

Neil let himself watch the game, knowing it would be suspicious to refuse to acknowledge it when he and Andrew were talking about it, but keeping himself from reacting to goals and penalties was exhausting, especially when Andrew was still at his back and would see every time Neil’s shoulders tensed from a close call.

Neil’s attention followed the Phoenixes as they weaved around the Sirens’ dealers and backliners until they lined up a shot on goal.

“Garcia is going to pass to Michaelson, who’s then going to miss because Cohen is going to check them.”

“No she’s not,” Neil snapped before he could stop himself. “Garcia has a track record of trying to make the shot too _often._ She’s not going to pass when she has a clear shot at the goal.”

Andrew leaned further over the back of the couch to speak right into Neil’s ear. “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not—”

Andrew slapped a hand over Neil’s mouth. “Don’t. Lie.”

Neil grabbed at Andrew’s wrist to pull his hand away. “I wasn’t lying. Garcia just scored.”

Andrew wasn’t amused, but he pulled his arm back out of Neil’s reach. “Did Riko send you? He should know by now that Kevin’s moved on.”

“Riko?” Neil echoed. “Moriyama?”

“I’d say the one and only, but Kevin already proved that Riko isn’t number one.”

“I’ve got nothing to do with Riko.”

“So why are you here?”

“I already told you. I didn’t want to go back to my apartment.”

“Is someone going to be waiting for you there?”

“What?” Neil couldn’t understand Andrew’s paranoia. Neil’s mother had been paranoid, and Neil to an extent, but they had _reason_ for it. Andrew was just an artist and Kevin was just an Exy player. There weren’t nefarious ties to either. “I’m not a spy. You’re insane if you think I am.”

“Then correct me. It’s quite the coincidence that a fan of the game _just so happens_ to bump into the flatmate of the best Exy player alive. You never did say why you found yourself in an antique shop that morning.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Neil said through gritted teeth.

“No?” Neil felt the familiar sting of a sharp blade pressed to his throat. “I think you do.”

Neil tried not to panic, and forced himself to remain still. “I’m not here for Kevin,” he said, and then felt his words weigh heavy on his tongue. “I’ve been pretending that I don’t like Exy since I was ten years old.”

The knife at his throat vanished, though Andrew didn’t move away.

“I told you that my mother took me away from my father when I was ten,” Neil continued, “but it wasn’t because she divorced him or just moved away. He tried to track us down, so we had to keep running, pretending to be other people so that he couldn’t find us.”

It had been Mary who set Neil on his path of fabricated identities. The personas she raised her son as had been the inspiration for those the Moriyamas gave Neil for his assignments as a Muse.

He swallowed hard, trying to clear the tightness from his throat. “My mother thought that Exy was a distraction that would get me killed, so she forbade me from playing and only let me obsess from a distance. I haven’t picked up a racquet since.”

Andrew said nothing for so long that Neil thought he’d blown it. He couldn’t imagine climbing the stairs to the sixteenth floor of _Moriyama Muses_ only to tell Ichirou that he failed his assignment because of Exy. Andrew’s movement snapped Neil from his thoughts, and he came to stand right in front of Neil. The height difference between them—Neil still sitting on the couch and Andrew looming over him—was jarring, and Neil wondered briefly if Andrew took every opportunity for height advantage that he could.

“Then why did you come here?”

Neil didn’t know how many times he had to say it for Andrew to believe him. “Is it so hard to believe I enjoy your company? No one’s waiting for me at home, Andrew. No-one’s ever waiting for me at home.” He forced his eyes away from Andrew’s blank expression, and he tried to sound defeated. It didn’t take much effort. The words were already there, broken and pathetic between them. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. I’ve not been myself for seven years, but I have always been nothing.”

Andrew reached out and forced Neil’s gaze up to meet his own with two fingers to his chin. He stared Neil down, but Neil couldn’t understand the look on his face, dark and intense enough to swallow Neil whole.

“I liked hanging out with you,” Neil said quietly. “I wasn’t ready to give this up yet.”

Andrew dropped his hand and stepped away. “There is no ‘this’.”

Neil didn’t know what he meant, but he shrugged. “Okay.” He didn’t know what else to say. What could he say? Neil had learnt to lie before he learnt the alphabet, but the things Andrew knew about him were the most honest and most awful parts of him. Andrew didn’t know that Neil was a Muse, but he did know that he was a lost cause, and he accepted it without flinching. Neil didn’t know what he could say in response to that. _Thank you,_ could never suffice.

He wondered, if only for a second, if Andrew could handle the entire truth so calmly, but that was too dangerous and too stupid to consider. It didn’t matter how well Andrew could handle _knowing_ about the Moriyamas: it wasn’t fair to burden him with a truth so astronomical.

“I’ll go,” Neil said, pushing himself up from the couch in the little room Andrew provided.

Andrew didn’t move to give him more. “What happened to wanting company?”

It was a snide comment, but Neil heard the unspoken invitation. He looked at Andrew for another moment to confirm that he wasn’t overstepping, but Andrew only looked back with a bored expression.

Neil sat down again. Andrew joined him on the other side of the couch, leaning back into the cushions and pulling his phone out. Neil only had to glance over a minute later to recognise the flashing lights of _Snake._ Neil swallowed down a hint of annoyance. Andrew had made almost perfect predictions about the outcome of the game—and he was sure that his mistake with Garcia was an intentional one to trick Neil into revealing more than he should have done—and Neil wanted to bounce off theories with him now that he could admit that he loved Exy.

“Can’t you watch the game?” Neil asked, unable to take his eyes off the players but it wasn’t like there was anyone else he could be addressing.

“Your favourite team is the Phoenix Phoenixes, Josten,” Andrew said. “You are in no position to make demands.”


	4. THE TRUTH OF BEING KNOWN

**W** hen Andrew woke up the following morning, the apartment was silent. Kevin was still at Jean or Jeremy’s, and Neil had left several hours ago.

Neil.

Andrew wasn’t entirely sure that he believed what Neil told him last night. There were certainly parts of his story that were true—exy, his father, and his mother’s death—but there were key components missing.

 _I’m not a math problem,_ Neil had told him.

 _But I’ll still solve you._

But try as he might, Andrew still hadn’t figured him out. He couldn’t understand the _motive_ behind Neil’s lies. Andrew was used to hearing both white lies and the lies that had been developed over years of untruths, but he wasn’t sure what to do with the oddness of Neil pretending he didn’t like exy, or pretending that he did like ice-cream when it was obvious he preferred sorbet. Andrew had never believed Neil when he said that he was afraid of tea bags—there was no way that was true—but there had been a moment where Neil had hovered in the kitchen while Andrew made Neil a coffee alongside his own mug of tea, and Neil had eyed the tea bag warily before catching Andrew’s eyes and dropping the act.

 _I’ve not been myself for seven years but I have always been nothing._

That was probably the most honest Neil had ever been with him. It should have made him angry. It just made him intrigued.

Andrew then realised that his phone was buzzing. He flipped it open and glanced at the screen to find that he’d missed three calls from Nicky. He answered the fourth and was bombarded with Nicky’s frantic worrying.

 __

“Andrew! Oh, thank God. I thought you were injured or dead or kidnapped. Or maybe you are injured or kidnapped. We need a code. If you’re in danger tell me about the weather. Should I call the police? Ask me about my weekend if yes, or about work if not. What—”

 __

“Nicky,” Andrew interrupted. “I’m fine. I just overslept.”

 __

“You haven’t slept through my calls since college,” Nicky grumbled. “And I know you only did that when you were purposefully ignoring me.”

 __

“Maybe I’m still purposefully ignoring you.”

 __

“Stop being difficult, you little gremlin.” When Andrew didn’t respond, Nicky said, more quietly this time, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 __

Andrew exhaled, loud enough that Nicky could probably hear it through his phone’s shitty microphone. “Yeah, Nicky. I’m okay.”

 __

“Good. Who else would I call every Monday?”

 __

“A therapist. Your hairdresser. Erik.”

 __

“I’ve lived with Erik for the last two years.”

 __

“You call him at lunch when you’re both at work.”

 __

“True. Three floors apart is too far.”

 __

Andrew didn’t remind him that Nicky lived 4530 miles away from Erik when he came back to the states to look after him and Aaron. Even if he wanted to, Nicky was prattling on about Erik and likely would be for the next ten minutes. Andrew let the sound of his voice wash over him. He couldn’t imagine being as invested in someone as Nicky was in Erik, though he had yet to see _anyone_ as invested in someone as Nicky was in Erik. Probably Erik, though Nicky was annoying and noisy enough that surely there were some points lost. At least Erik could be quiet.

 __

Even so, Andrew sometimes found himself surprised that Erik had held Nicky’s attention for so long, even through the string of hook-ups that they had both agreed to have while Nicky was living in the States. On the other hand, Nicky wasn’t as easily bored as Andrew was; sure, his attention flitted about from obsession to obsession, but he didn’t have the same standards for interest as Andrew did. Andrew rarely found _anything_ interesting.

 __

Except perhaps Neil.

 __

It wouldn’t last long though, Andrew knew. Once Andrew unearthed all of Neil’s secrets and unraveled his mysteries, Neil Josten would become as boring as everyone else in Andrew’s life.

 __

* * *

__

**A** ndrew only just managed to dodge Renee’s punch, but in doing so, he’d sidestepped right into her kick. He grunted in pain, as if this wasn’t a weekly occurrence.

 __

“You’re distracted,” Renee pointed out. She wasn’t even out of breath.

 __

He was. “I’m not.”

 __

“Is it Neil?”

 __

Andrew would have punched her if he wasn’t already trying to. And failing. Instead, he was quickly swept off his feet and hit the padded mat with a _thud._

 __

Renee’s head hovered in his view as she looked down at him. “You’re very distracted.”

 __

“Fuck off.”

 __

Renee smiled, and offered him a hand. Andrew batted it away before pushing himself off the ground.

 __

“Did you stay out much longer after you dropped me off?”

 __

“No. We went back to my apartment.”

 __

Renee’s eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

 __

“Not like that.” _Unfortunately._ “It was cold.”

 __

Renee just hummed, in that almost-Bee-but-not-quite way.

 __

“He likes exy,” Andrew told her.

 __

“Ah.” Renee sat down next to him, and passed him his water-bottle before she took a sip from her own. Both had the _Andraste’s_ gym logo of two boxing hares. “Dealbreaker?”

 __

“I still live with Kevin, don’t I?”

 __

“You’re not dating Kevin.”

 __

“I’m not dating Neil, either.”

 __

“You’re considering it, though.”

 __

Andrew flicked her a look. “I don’t even know if he likes men.”

 __

Renee just looked amused. “You could just ask.”

 __

Andrew didn’t answer. He wouldn’t ask because he didn’t see the point. Neil was interesting, sure, but ‘interesting’ didn’t mean ‘capable of handling a fuckton of trauma’. Andrew wouldn’t sic that on anyone.

 __

“Hey,” Renee said when Andrew had been quiet for too long. “If you’re thinking something stupid like Neil not being able to handle your past then stop. You can’t make those kind of decisions for someone.”

 __

Andrew considered the probability of Renee being a mindreader over a good guess and years of exposure to Andrew. “I thought calling people stupid was mean.”

 __

“I didn’t say _you_ were stupid. I said that that _excuse_ was stupid.”

 __

“It’s not an excuse.”

 __

“Isn’t it?”

 __

Renee’s eyebrow was quirked again, though this time in challenge. The difference between an _Oh?_ eyebrow and an _Isn’t it?_ eyebrow was that if Renee was challenging or daring someone, she raised the eyebrow with the slit. It was ridiculous, but Andrew was a little envious that she had the option. Andrew had once considered taking his razor to his eyebrow, but a self-made scar out of vanity never held the same weight as one from a fight. If Renee could truly read his thoughts, she’d have known to aim for his head the next time she punched him.

 __

Eventually they picked themselves up from the floor and towelled off. Andrew headed back to his apartment for a shower, but when he sat back down on the couch to read, he couldn’t focus on the words. He didn’t let himself dwell on what—or rather _who—_ was taking over his thoughts, and instead grabbed his keys and his coat.

 __

Andrew tried to call, but it went straight through to voicemail. It took a while to tap out a text to Neil, even after years of practice.

  
**Andrew:** I’m on my way to the foxhole court.  
  


He knew the way, like he knew the way to every place he’d ever been to, but unlike his first trip to _The Foxhole Court,_ Andrew was intercepted.

 __

A woman with dark skin and a bright yellow pullover crossed right into Andrew’s path. He held his hands out to stop her from bumping into his chest—because breaking into a panic attack in the middle of a busy street wasn’t on his plan for the day and he didn’t particularly fancy dealing with the consequences of stabbing a stranger in public—and grabbed hold of her shoulders to keep her at arms’ reach.

 __

“Ooft, sorry!” the woman said, stepping back immediately. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

 __

The phone in her hand presented itself as an explanation. Andrew ignored her and tried to step around her, only for the woman to match his movement and block his path yet again. She smiled sheepishly despite Andrew’s blank expression.

 __

“Sorry. Again.” She waited a beat for Andrew’s reply, but continued when it didn’t come. Andrew couldn’t understand why she was trying for conversation. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere? Your face looks familiar.”

 __

Andrew doubted it; since graduating PSU and deciding _not_ to follow Kevin into professional stickball, his face had faded into obscurity, and it wasn’t like Aaron was gaining any popularity as a medical intern. “No.”

 __

“No, no, I definitely know you.”

 __

Andrew didn’t have the patience for this. Neil might be waiting for him at _The Foxhole Court_ and he didn’t want to miss him by being a few minutes late. He put a hand to the woman’s shoulder and held her in place as he walked past her.

 __

He faintly heard her curse, but dismissed it. She’d probably dropped something—likely, if she was the type of person to walk while texting—or annoyed that she’d missed her chance to talk to whoever she incorrectly believed Andrew was.

 __

When he arrived at _The Foxhole Court,_ all the lights were turned off. A sheet of paper was taped to the inside of the window nearest the door.

CLOSED DUE TO ~~UNFORESEEN~~ ~~FORESEEN~~ UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES

Andrew squinted at it. Did they know they were going to be closed or not? It figured that a place that would hire someone like Neil Josten was as clueless about their opening hours as they were their employees.

He tried the door, but it was locked and there was no point in breaking in if Neil wasn’t going to be inside. He checked his phone, but there was no reply to his text and Neil hadn’t tried to call Andrew back. He debated whether or not to stay and wait for someone to return for the evening shift, but Andrew didn’t trust that there _was_ an evening shift, and he was freezing his balls off. Andrew spun on his heel and shoved his phone back in his coat pocket, leaving his hands inside to keep warm.

 __

He would come back tomorrow.

 __

* * *

__

**B** eing grabbed by the wrist as soon as a set of doors opened was starting to feel familiar. This time, it was Dan. She dragged him over to her desk, and pushed him down into her chair, where her yellow pullover was draped across the back to make up for the uncomfortable design. The Moriyamas might have their colour scheme and aesthetic in every inch of their building, but they certainly didn’t consider their employees’ comfort.

 __

“Why was Minyard looking for you?” she asked, sitting on her desk and resting one foot on the edge of her chair by Neil’s thigh, the other swinging over the edge of the desk.

 __

“What?”

 __

“Minyard. He was heading to _The Foxhole Court._ That’s where you told him you worked, right? I just asked Matt to put up a sign saying they were closed.”

 __

“Oh.” Neil pulled his phone out of his bag, but the battery was flat. Dan saw the unresponsive screen, and sighed exasperatedly. She held her hand out, and Neil handed it over. It didn’t take long for her to plug it into her desk’s charger, though it did take a while for his phone to gain enough charge to turn on.

 __

Neil saw the notifications flood in for a missed call from Andrew, and a text to let him know that he was on his way to _The Foxhole Court._ Andrew had probably assumed Neil was at work, which was correct, though not in the location Andrew would have expected.

 __

“So why was he looking for you?” Dan asked again.

 __

“He didn’t say.”

 __

Dan looked unimpressed. “You’re a Muse. Figure it out. Why would he be looking for you?”

 __

Neil set his phone down again and leant back in Dan’s chair. He looked to the white ceiling for inspiration, but only imagined Ichirou’s pacing several floors above him. The timer on Neil’s assignment was ticking, and Neil still hadn’t made any progress.

 __

“I told him about my past,” Neil said at length. “Maybe he had some follow-up questions.” He shook his head at Dan’s shocked expression. “Not all of it. Not any of this.” He waved his hand around to gesture at the Muses’ department. “I told him that I was on the run with my mother, and that I haven’t played Exy since I was ten.”

 __

“Exy?” Dan frowned. “How did that come up?”

 __

“He noticed my interest, and that I tried to hide it. ‘Neil’ isn’t supposed to like sports. I think he suspected something.”

 __

“Do you think you’re at risk of being found out? We can pull you out easily enough, get an assignment somewhere else.”

 __

Neil shook his head emphatically. “No. No, I’ve got it covered.”

 __

Dan started chewing on her lip ring as she often did when she was deep in thought. “Neil,” she started, slowly and carefully, as if not to spook him. “Why are you insistent on keeping this assignment?”

 __

Neil frowned. “What do you mean? I always keep assignments.”

 __

Dan sighed and leaned back on her hands. “I mean, it’s unlike you to tell someone anything personal about your life. It took Matt three months to find out that you’ve got an uncle.”

 __

“It never came up.”

 __

“And running away from your father did?”

 __

Neil didn’t know what to say, so he only shrugged and looked away. Matt and Allison were playing a game of thumb-wars, likely over who went to get the next round of coffee or something equally trivial.

 __

Neil didn’t want to tell her about his and Andrew’s game of truths. It wasn’t that Dan didn’t know most of it herself—she did—but there was something so delicate about the unspoken rules of the game. It was a give and take, one secret shared for another of a similar weight. Neil felt that revealing the game to Dan would be to add another weight to the seesaw, and he didn’t want to feel like he had taken something from Andrew without his permission or without offering something in return.

 __

Dan sighed, her shoulders slumping minutely. “Just remember that the MPD clause is there for you if you need it.”

 __

The _Manic Pixie Dream Clause_ was one of the first successes of the Muses’ trade union. It was a loophole that meant if a Muse found their assigned artist infatuated with them, they could drop their assignment. This was prior to the normalisation of dropping assignments, as now Muses rarely held a streak for long, and it was one of the breakthroughs in the ongoing fight that Muses held the same rights as other employees.

 __

Unlike most employment at _Moriyama Muses_ or other deity-led industries, Muses were bound to their contracts. There was no cancellation clause, where a Muse could quit their job after a week’s notice, and there were no sick days. Muses could take time off, as long as they stuck to a predetermined rota, but you could only cross your fingers and hope that the flu fell on vacation.

 __

The _Manic Pixie Dream Clause_ was more than just a loophole, however. It reminded Muses and their employers that the act of inspiration often came at a cost. Neil played his part, pretending to be people he wasn’t because he had been raised to do so, but for the other Muses it wasn’t so simple. Dan Wilds was a determined leader of a woman with unbreakable spirit, so when her assigned artists wanted to paint her as some exotic creature, or write poetry about her ‘chocolate skin’, she could call the _Manic Pixie Dream Clause_ and mark that this artist was not only fetishising her, but also forgetting that Dan Wilds was a human being with her own life and her own dreams. It was her _job_ to inspire artists, but it was not her _life._ She finished at five o’clock and went home to her apartment with her boyfriend, and she went to museums on weekends where she painted statues and vases and stuffed animals.

 __

Dan Wilds was a human being who deserved better than to become some idea trapped in the mind of the miserable.

 __

Not every Muse held the _Manic Pixie Dream Clause_ to the same value. Allison Reynolds saw it as a challenge. If she finished an assignment before the artist had asked her out on a date, she lamented herself to a movie night with wine, ice-cream and romantic comedies.

 __

“Allison has assignments falling for her all the time,” Neil said. “She actively encourages it.”

 __

“Allison has been a Muse for longer than you,” Dan started, counting her counter-arguments on her fingers. “She knows what she is and isn’t comfortable with, and has dropped assignments faster than she can snap her fingers when an artist crossed over a line. You’ve never dropped an assignment before.”

 __

“Dan, it’s fine.” He ignored her flat look for another ‘I’m Fine’ comment. “Andrew isn’t the type of person who would take without giving something back. I trust him.”

 __

It was a truth Neil didn’t like to admit, not even to himself. He trusted Andrew, perhaps as much as he did his Muses, and yet their entire friendship was based on a lie. He could sometimes pretend that Andrew was just an assignment and that it didn’t matter what Andrew thought of him, but he knew that this was different. The thought of Andrew finding out that—

 __

A wave of nausea crashed over Neil, cresting at the memory of Andrew’s intense gaze. _Don’t lie to me._

 __

It was the one thing Andrew had asked of him, and yet Neil had done it anyway.

 __

“Neil?”

 __

Neil looked up to see Dan’s concerned eyes set on him. He gave a half smile, though he wasn’t sure if it settled her worry. “I’ll be careful, but Andrew won’t be trouble.”

 __

Dan smiled back, a wide grin of pearly teeth that made Neil’s smile feel more genuine. “You’re Neil Josten,” she said. “It’s Minyard who should be worried about trouble.”

 __

* * *

__

**A** ndrew returned to _The Foxhole Court_ the following day to find the lights turned on. It was also—to Andrew’s almost-surprise—fully staffed. He found Matt working behind the ice-cream counter again and dancing along to Whitney Houston’s _How Will I Know._ Andrew ignored the lyrics pulsing through the overhead speakers, and looked for Neil.

 __

He couldn’t find him, though there were likely a lot of places Andrew didn’t know to look, so he headed over to the ice-cream counter with his hands in his pockets. He waited for Matt to turn around, and Matt startled when he saw Andrew in the corner of his eye. He placed a hand over his heart and closed his eyes for a moment.

 __

“Shit, man,” he said, as if that were necessary. “You scared the shit out of me.”

 __

Andrew didn’t see the point in responding to something so obvious. “Where’s Neil?”

 __

“Oh.” Matt looked around over Andrew’s shoulder—and admittedly over his head too, considering that Matt had at least a foot on him—and stuck his head through the kitchen door to check inside. He closed it a beat later. “He is in but I’m not sure where. Give me a sec.”

 __

Matt flipped up the false counter-top and locked it behind him, and headed over to the roller-skates exchange. A woman emerged from the aisles of skates and it took Andrew a moment to place her: it was the same woman who had nearly bumped into him on his way to _The Foxhole Court_ yesterday. She wasn’t wearing the same yellow pullover, exchanging it for the same garishly orange uniform as Matt and the other members of staff. Andrew didn’t let himself think of Neil in the same outfit. The orange hoodie Andrew had found in the staff room had been bad enough.

 __

Matt talked to the woman for a few seconds with easy smiles and ending with a kiss on Matt’s cheek. He came back to Andrew with a brightness that reminded Andrew of Nicky.

 __

Matt rapped his knuckles on the counter. “He’s helping with paperwork in the office. Do you want some ice-cream while you wait? We’ve got double chocolate fudge with salted caramel sauce again.”

 __

Andrew wanted to reach into Matt’s thoughts and redact anything he thought he knew about Andrew. “Cookie dough.”

 __

Matt shrugged, another smile tugging at his lips, and grabbed a plastic bowl from the stack, knocking two balls of ice-cream inside by tapping the scoop against the rim. Andrew took the bowl without a word, silently passing on the message that it was going to be on the house since Andrew hadn’t actually ordered it.

 __

He’d only sat down for two minutes when the seat in front of him was slid away from the table and taken by another familiar woman. Allison flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and leaned back in her chair to stare at Andrew in assessment. Andrew met her gaze and watched as a pink bubble of gum grew from painted lips. She was a noisy chewer, but Andrew didn’t let his irritation show. He wasn’t going to be the first to break their mutual assessments. Andrew wondered how Neil and Allison knew each other, why they acted like they didn’t when they arrived at _Spider Tales Publishing,_ and whether King Fluffkins was really content living in the same building as someone who didn’t seem that pleased to see her returned. Not _displeased,_ Andrew knew. If Allison had seemed anything like neglectful Andrew wouldn’t have let her take King back. She just seemed… unsurprised.

 __

Perhaps King disappeared often, only to return a few days later with adventure stories of Catholic priests and eight-legged tricksters.

 __

“What do you want with Neil?” she eventually asked.

 __

Andrew, already bored with Allison’s useless style of protection, didn’t answer. He was about to ask after King instead when Neil appeared at Allison’s side. Allison didn’t wait on Andrew’s answer before rising from her chair and letting Neil drop into it.

 __

“Hey,” Neil said brightly.

 __

Andrew tried not to sound snide, but he didn’t know how well it worked. “Hey.”

 __

“You wanted to see me?”

 __

Andrew didn’t want to acknowledge that. Instead, he started to ask why Neil had acted like he didn’t know Allison when they returned King, but cut off when he noticed that Neil’s bowl of ice-cream was actually another bowl of sorbet. Andrew glared at it in distaste, and wondered what Neil had done to deserve Matt’s ire.

 __

“What?” Neil asked, looking between Andrew and his sorbet and back again.

 __

“Why does Matt give you sorbet?”

 __

“Oh.” Neil’s mouth made a little ‘o’ shape, that Andrew did _not_ keep staring at, nor did he watch the way Neil chewed on his bottom lip in thought. “I don’t actually like ice-cream all that much. I prefer fruit.”

 __

 _I’ve been pretending that I don’t like exy since I was ten years old,_ Neil had said two nights ago. _We had to keep running, pretending to be other people so that he couldn’t find us._

 __

Andrew didn’t fully understand why dessert-preference made someone easier to find, but he supposed that the fake identities Neil’s mother had likely forced him into had to be fully fleshed out.

 __

 _I’ve not been myself for seven years but I have always been nothing._

 __

It made Andrew wonder what it meant for Neil to be telling him little truths about himself now. He was more than hesitant to tell Andrew about his past, but he shared his love for stickball and now his preference for fruit. Andrew knew that he should dismiss them as worthless—they didn’t amount to much in his endeavour to get Neil out of his system—but he found himself holding those truths close to his chest all the same.

 __

“Do you want to skate again?” Neil asked, pulling Andrew out of his head.

 __

Andrew thought about it briefly, but ultimately decided no. He shook his head, but Neil didn’t appear disappointed.

 __

“We could go to the local exy court and—”

 __

Andrew cut him off with a firm, “No.”

 __

Neil’s lips quirked up, like he had been expecting that response. Andrew didn’t know what to do with the truth of being known. “You have any better ideas?”

 __

* * *

__

**“T** his is not what I expected,” Neil said.

 __

Andrew didn’t reply, and led the way inside _The Wild Hunt,_ an arcade with ultraviolet lights and blue hues. Andrew hadn’t gone without Aaron before, but it had been the first and only place that sprung to mind. He wasn’t going to analyse multiple options when the alternative was playing exy.

 __

“If someone offers you crackers, they’re not actual crackers,” Andrew warned, not bothering to hold the door open for Neil. “It’s cracker dust: non-addictive but gives you a quick high.”

 __

“I don’t do drugs,” Neil said.

 __

Neil didn’t sound judgemental but Andrew still replied, “Is your spine the spine of the righteous? Are you trying your best to step on my toes because you’re feeling the tragic weight of the holier than thou?”

 __

Neil’s lips quirked in amusement, and Andrew tried not to notice how the blue lights of the arcade made his cerulean eyes look otherworldly. He wanted Neil to say something stupid, but Neil remained silent and unattainable, looking around the arcade like he’d stepped into another realm.

 __

They passed rows of arcade cabinets with fading designs of _Pac-Man_ and _Space Invaders_ to the counter to collect their tokens. After shoving a handful into his pocket, Andrew briefly considered playing against Neil in one of the racing games, but instead weaved around the children and adults alike until they reached _Dance Dance Revolution._

 __

Neil caught on quicker than Andrew expected. “No.” Andrew turned to find Neil staring at Andrew like he’d grown a second head. “Andrew,” he continued, his tone bordering on imploring, “you can’t be serious.”

 __

Andrew didn’t reply, only stepped around the bars onto the light-up stage on the left. He watched as Neil hesitantly climbed onto the second stage, eyeing the floor like it might swallow him whole.

 __

Once Andrew slipped a token into the slot and selected a song, he stood with his feet on the pink and blue tiles as the countdown started, watching Neil’s complete focus on the screen in front of him. Neil was so absorbed that he didn’t notice that when the beat started Andrew didn’t step with him. It took nine steps for Neil to glance over and see Andrew leaning against the bars with his arms crossed, amused.

 __

Neil flipped him a middle finger and turned back to the game, determined to continue even if he did it alone. He missed most of the arrows, but he still finished with a smile on his face. Andrew reached out and poked him in the cheek to turn his face away. Even crooked teeth in ultraviolet light didn’t stop the churning in his stomach.

 __

They didn’t stay in the video games section for long, following the maze of _The Wild Hunt_ to an area that appeared more like a fairground, only indoors and still lit by ultraviolet light. White rubber ducks were luminous in the black water pool, soon snatched up by steel rods and hooks. Lined up glass bottles reflected the twisting crowds, almost appearing to contain sparkling universes within, only to fall into black holes when knocked over by soft balls.

 __

Neil was surprisingly adept at the shooter games, though claimed more tokens as his prize. Andrew took off his coat two games before they landed at the _Ring the Bell,_ and he too collected more tokens after his swing of the mallet.

 __

It wasn’t until Andrew landed three throwing knives on a painted target that he pointed to the rows of prizes rather than the stacks of plastic tokens.

 __

Andrew had found the knife throwing game and exchanged a token to play while Neil was still trailing behind looking at the sights. He had planned to surprise Neil with his aim—because he had never told Neil that he and Renee practiced fighting with knives once a week—but when Neil caught up and saw the knives in his hand, his shoulders had gained a new weight of tension and there was a careful blankness in his expression that hadn’t been there before.

 __

Neil didn’t say what was wrong, which was predictable, but Andrew remembered what Neil had told him about his father, and how that conversation started because Neil had spotted the knives Andrew kept in his armbands. _My father was not a good man. His favourite weapon was a cleaver, and before that, an axe. He used to teach me before my mom ran away with me when I was ten. I never understood why he liked knives so much._

 __

Andrew’s memory was unfailable that when he tried to recall something, he could remember every detail. Those details haunted him during the night, when his mind decided that a good night’s sleep wasn’t necessary, despite the dark circles under his eyes. Yet just because Andrew _could_ remember everything, didn’t mean that he always remembered that he _needed_ to remember anything. If asked, Andrew would be able to recall every word Neil had ever said to him, but when he had seen the game, Neil’s father had been the last thing on Andrew’s mind.

 __

“Neil,” Andrew said, but Neil didn’t seem to hear him. He stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the last knife Andrew had thrown. “Neil,” he said again, and pushed the soft toy into Neil’s chest.

 __

The touch seemed to trigger something, and Neil brought his hands up and his face finally shifted from the blank expression to one of surprise. He looked down at the stuffed fox in his hands and the corners of his lips upturned a little. Andrew looked away, unable to bear the sight any longer.

 __

They didn’t stay much longer after that. Andrew bought a stick of cotton-candy to eat while Neil carried around the fox, until they found the exit again. The sight of a clear sky was jarring after adjusting to the ultraviolet lights of _The Wild Hunt._ Neil’s skin no longer had that luminous, otherworldly tone, but Andrew decidedly preferred the man before him now, freckled brown skin, copper curls, pale blue eyes, and _real._

 __

It was late, and Neil told him that he had an early start at work the following morning, so they didn’t plan to extend the night any further. Still, neither stepped in their directions of home. Neil’s half-wave goodbye prompted Andrew to turn around and take two steps in the opposite direction, but he slowed when he heard his phone ringing in his pocket. He stopped when he recognised the custom ringtone.

 __

He put the phone to his ear as he turned to face Neil, now standing a few metres away but still within earshot. “What do you want?” Andrew asked into the phone.

 __

“I wanted to find out my ringtone,” Neil said. “You’re not funny.”

 __

Andrew shrugged. He thought choosing Cascada’s _Runaway_ was funny. “I won’t change it.”

 __

Even from this far, Andrew could see Neil’s lop-sided smile. “Are you free tomorrow?”

 __

“No,” Andrew said, just to be contrary, and because he knew that it wasn’t a good idea to see Neil on consecutive days. He was self-destructive, not stupid.

 __

And then, because apparently he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was, Andrew added, “Saturday?”

 __


	5. NO MORE SECRETS

**N** eil woke to a wet tongue on his cheek. His eyes still closed, he grimaced and pushed Sir back. He had to squint in the morning light, but he could still read her indignation that he hadn’t fed her or King yet, the latter still curled up near his feet. Neil grabbed his watch to check the time.

“It’s not breakfast time yet, asshole,” Neil muttered. Sir only meowed at him.

Neil pushed himself out of bed and Sir’s _pad pad pad_ of her paws followed him into the kitchen. The cupboards were mostly empty, but a large bag of cat food was kept in one so Sir and King couldn’t conspire to sneak an extra meal or two while Neil was at work. He filled Sir’s bowl, and King’s once she deigned to wake from her nap.

When he returned to his room to get a sweater, his phone buzzed from somewhere in his bed after he had fallen asleep texting Andrew.

Neil felt the familiar tug of guilt in his stomach, that only settled when he was around Andrew himself. Neil had been assigned as Andrew’s muse three months ago now, and yet Andrew hadn’t yet made any work. Neil was almost certain that the only reason Ichirou allowed him to continue with this assignment was because he had already completed six others in the seven months prior.

Neil’s plans for inspiring Andrew had ranged from blindfolded pottery making to an interpretive dance class, but as time went on, the time he spent with Andrew focused more on getting to know him and enjoying his company than it did breaking him from his creative block.

He’d told Andrew things about himself that no one else—not even the Muses—knew, and cherished every secret that Andrew gave him in return. It wasn’t just the darkest parts of themselves, either. When Neil found out how Andrew liked his coffee, he made sure to bring a flask of sugar and cream with a splash of coffee when he headed to Andrew’s apartment the next day, and the week after. Neil wasn’t always capable of putting his thoughts into words, and Andrew glared at him when he did, but he hoped that Andrew knew that Neil would value and protect his secrets.

Neil fished out his phone just as Sir started searching for a second helping, and opened Andrew’s message.

  
**Andrew:** Kevin’s hogging the living room with his boyfriends. It’s disgusting  
  


Neil recognised it as the invitation to hang out that it was, and started to tap out confirmation but paused with his thumb hovering over the send button. Over the three months they had been hanging out, Neil always went to Andrew’s apartment or they went out into the city. Neil had never let Andrew into his apartment because King was there and Andrew would find out that Neil had been lying to him from the start. There had been a close call last month where Neil had been too sick to go to the local artists’ exhibition they had planned to see, and Andrew had insisted on coming over with soup.

Andrew had taken one look at Neil’s apartment and pushed him into a taxi to take them both back to Andrew’s apartment. After setting Neil up on the couch, Andrew had turned around to pick up groceries, flu medicine, and two sets of bedding for Neil to take back with him.

Andrew had also given him a copy of his own apartment key that day. He’d claimed that it was because Neil’s apartment was so mouldy it was a miracle that he hadn’t fallen ill sooner, and he had made Neil promise to call him and crash on his couch when he started getting sick again.

They had stayed in for the rest of the day, watching trashy television shows in the living room. Neil had never woken up to a cooked breakfast before, but it wasn’t something he could complain about.

Neil set his phone down without pressing SEND, and picked up the brass key from the floor beside his bed. He ran his finger down the teeth, memorising the familiar grooves.

He had been reluctant to tell Andrew the truth about their friendship that day, and every day since, because he feared losing Andrew. His usual response to fear was to run and hide, and Neil had done exactly that.

He didn’t want to run anymore, and he didn’t want to hide.

Andrew hadn’t run when Neil told him about his father, so perhaps he wouldn’t run when Neil told him this, too. He knew it was stupid to hope, but he felt the disquiet of it anyway. He knew that if Andrew wanted to break contact and never see Neil again, Neil would let him, but he dreaded the thought of it all the same. Andrew had started to become a fixture in Neil’s life, and he knew that once he left that void would be hard if not impossible to fill.

It wasn’t fair to Andrew, though, and Neil hated his own cowardice more than anything. He set the key down again and picked up his phone. He deleted his earlier draft and typed out his address before fear got the better of him.

Andrew didn’t reply for almost an hour, but when he did it was only to tell Neil that he was on his way. Neil let out a breath and let go of the tension in his shoulders. It felt like release, but a part of him knew that the emptiness of Andrew’s inevitable goodbye would hurt as much as his mother’s had.

The wait until Andrew’s arrival was excruciating. Sir and King were both fed up with Neil’s impatience, and sat atop their climbing tree in Neil’s bedroom to take another nap. Neil paced around his apartment, looking for something to clean or something to tidy, though he had already washed up his plate and mug from breakfast while he waited for Andrew’s reply. Now, he wished he’d gone for a run and burnt off his nervous energy.

Andrew arrived a little after eleven o’clock, and when Neil opened his front door, Andrew had his fist raised to the door to knock. He lowered it slowly. “Neil.”

Neil stepped aside to let Andrew inside his apartment. “Hi.”

Andrew looked around while Neil shut the door behind him, but there wasn’t much to see so a moment later his gaze found Neil again. Neil opened his mouth to offer a drink—though Neil didn’t have any sugar and he’d run out of milk several weeks ago and hadn’t bothered to buy a replacement—but he was cut off by the _pad pad pad_ of cat paws.

It was Sir who came out of Neil’s bedroom, but Neil almost wished it had been King who came out to greet them. He wanted Andrew to recognise her and call Neil out on his lies once more just so Neil could rip off the band-aid.

“You have a cat,” Andrew said.

It was a statement, and didn’t require a response, but still Neil said, “I have two.” He was almost disappointed that Andrew didn’t push and ask where the second was.

Andrew went into the kitchen and Neil heard the fridge door open and close a moment later.

“If you thought bringing groceries to my apartment a few times meant I would return the favour you were wrong.”

“No. I know what you say about assuming things,” Neil said quietly. Andrew must have heard him, because he hovered in the kitchen doorway with a minute frown tugging at his eyebrows. He must have heard the change in Neil’s tone. “The unhealthy eating habits isn’t one of ‘Neil’s, or it wasn’t supposed to be.”

Andrew closed the space between them, and came to a stop a foot away from where Neil was still standing by the door. Neil was already looking at him, but Andrew brought his hand to the back of Neil’s neck to keep Neil’s focus on Andrew’s face.

“Are you having a mental breakdown?”

Neil huffed out a puff of air; the closest to a laugh he could get in this state. “Probably. That’s another thing that stuck. Can’t fake mental stability.”

“Neil.”

Neil closed his eyes, unable to make himself look at Andrew as he whispered, “Neil isn’t real. If you need a name you can trust, trust Abram.”

“I trust you.”

That made Neil open his eyes again, to meet Andrew’s grounding gaze. The dim light filtering from the grey sky outside made Andrew’s earth-coloured eyes appear darker than usual. Mary had given Neil brown contacts more often than any other colour, insisting they were more common and less memorable, but looking at Andrew now he couldn’t imagine ever forgetting eyes like these. They were warm and dark enough that Neil could see his reflection staring back. He felt safe, protected in Andrew’s gaze.

He felt trusted, though he didn’t deserve a second of it.

He closed his eyes again so he didn’t have to watch that trust shatter. “You shouldn’t.” He exhaled a shaky breath, and shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “You were right about it being too much of a coincidence to meet you in an antiques shop, but I wasn’t looking for Kevin. I was looking for you.”

Andrew didn’t say anything, but Neil couldn’t see his reaction. He closed his eyes tighter as he continued, “My father killed my mother when I was sixteen, and he would have found me if I hadn’t made a deal with the Moriyamas.”

Andrew’s fingers twitched on the back of Neil’s neck. “I explicitly remember you telling me you had nothing to do with Riko.”

His words proved what Neil already knew: the second Neil told him he had lied—not just by omission, but in the traditional sense, too—to his face Andrew would cut him loose. Neil wanted to get through as much of his story as he could before that happened, just so he could give Andrew as much honesty as he could. It was selfish, but the alternative was impossible.

“I don’t. Riko and Tetsuji are from the second-branch of the Moriyamas. I made a deal with the first. They would protect me from my father if I signed a contract with them to become a Muse.”

Neil opened his eyes so he could watch when Andrew made the connection. It was a cruelty he allowed himself, something he would inevitably playback every time he wanted to remember why hope was too dangerous a concept to fathom. He wondered if it would one day incite the same combination of grief and comfort that smelling cigarette smoke did.

“They hire me to inspire artists who have stopped creating.”

And there it was.

That undeserved trust in Andrew’s eyes, broken.

That protection, shattered.

Neil watched as Andrew’s eyes glazed over. Watched, as Andrew picked up his jacket and left without another word.


	6. BREAK UP, BREAK THROUGH

**“H** ow have things been this week, Andrew?” Bee asked.

“Aaron and Katelyn have started talking about adoption,” Andrew said, which was true but it had only occupied his mind because he refused to dwell on the other nagging thoughts. “Nicky’s insufferable about it.”

“And you? How do you feel about having a child in your family?”

“Nicky’s always been a part of my family.”

Bee smiled, but didn’t let him get away with the diversion, either. “Are you looking forward to being an uncle?”

“Aaron said that it won’t happen for a few more years. They want to be better prepared to support a child.”

It didn’t answer the question, but after the second diversion Bee let it go. “I’m glad to hear that. Raising a child is a lot of responsibility.”

Andrew hummed. It made him all the more grateful for Nicky’s existence in his and Aaron’s lives. At eighteen Nicky had decided to take two surly fifteen year olds into his care, despite having as much trauma as he did enthusiasm.

“And have you thought more about what I asked last week?”

She was referring to her suggestion that Andrew talked to Neil again, to work out what had been real between them and what had been fabrications of his ‘assignment’. At the time, Andrew had immediately dismissed the suggestion, considered leaving Bee’s office and calling it a day. He still didn’t want to, because he knew that it didn’t matter if there were parts of Neil’s story that were true. The fact that Neil preferred fruit to ice-cream didn’t change that Neil had been lying to Andrew from the start, that every moment they had spent together had been clouded with Neil’s feigned interest in Andrew.

There were very few people in Andrew’s life that chose to be there—Nicky, Aaron, Renee, Kevin, Bee—but they had all taken the steps to get to know him and understand him to a certain degree, and then had chosen to stay. Neil didn’t know everything about Andrew’s past, but he had picked up on what made Andrew _Andrew_ unusually fast.

Andrew had known from the start that Neil Josten was a pipedream, but he hadn’t thought Neil Josten a _lie._ It was foolish of him to not consider it. It was too unrealistic for Andrew to find someone who had taken the time to get to know him without motive and then choose to stay, out of their own desire for Andrew’s company rather than some bullshit claim of blood relation or taking on another charity case on their path to redemption. Because in the end it hadn’t been without motive. Neil had lied to Andrew because it was his job. Their entire relationship was based on a paycheck.

The night Neil had come clean, Andrew had gone straight back to his empty apartment—Kevin having gone out with Jean and Jeremy at some point during the evening—and tried to sleep for as long as possible. It hadn’t been nearly long enough. He’d stayed awake until three in the morning, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, and then finally succumbed to unconsciousness. The following day, Andrew had oscillated between scrolling through countless unhelpful conspiracy theories about the main branch of the Moriyamas—the least helpful being an article claiming the Moriyamas had personally saved the writer’s career over some bullshit interview that told nothing about their enterprise. Andrew was certain she’d made the entire thing up—and trying to provoke answers from Kevin with mild to severe threats to both Kevin and his boyfriends.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Andrew said.

“That’s okay, Andrew. Thank you for letting me know,” Bee said, sipping at her hot chocolate. “What did you and Renee bake over the weekend?”

* * *

**T** he wind was familiarly cold and biting but _Walker Way With A Book_ was as warm as it always was. Neither settled that tug in his chest like he had half-hoped they would. He settled in his regular armchair but instead of browsing for a book from the shelf of recommendations, he brought out his phone and played a game of _Snake._ He had no intention of looking for inspiration in words when—

“Andrew,” Renee greeted, cutting off his thoughts and setting two mugs of hot chocolate down on the table. She must have sensed his bad mood, if she’d made hot chocolate instead of tea. “How are you?”

Andrew only stared blankly at Renee for asking a stupid question.

Renee’s smile remained, though, as she sat down opposite him and smoothed out her skirt. “Has he tried contacting you?”

Two days ago, Andrew had told Renee what had happened between Neil and him. It wasn’t entirely voluntary, considering Allison had barged into _Walker Way With A Book_ while Andrew had been enjoying a moment of comfortable silence with Renee over mugs of spiced apple tea, and demanded to know why Neil was moping around and ruining her weekend.

Andrew hadn’t realised until that moment—when he noticed Allison’s familiarity with Renee’s bookstore and Renee’s lack of surprise at Allison’s sudden entrance—that the two women had been dating since they met the night Allison had lost King. Or, Andrew now wondered: perhaps King did not live in _Sky Tower,_ and perhaps Allison did not work at _Spider Tales Publishing._

What were the chances of Neil finding a stray, very friendly, cat in the area near Andrew’s apartment, connected to a scavenger hunt with clues that Andrew _just so happened_ to understand. It was as likely as Neil walking into _Afterlife Antiques_ the same day Andrew did, and Andrew felt foolish.

Allison had demanded to hear Andrew’s side of the story, since she wasn’t getting anything from Neil. Andrew would have ignored her—he certainly didn’t care how Neil was feeling, since it was his choice to lie to Andrew from the start—except that Renee gave him an encouraging smile and he could see that she wanted to know what had happened between him and Neil. Despite Allison’s protests, Andrew had refused to tell her, and Renee had suggested that Allison met with her later. After Allison left, Andrew had filled Renee in on the past three months.

“Oh, Andrew,” Renee had said, and Andrew hated the look of pity in her eyes. Renee knew more about his past than most, and she hadn’t pitied him then, only understood. Apparently all it took was one act of betrayal and Renee was as trite as the rest of them. Andrew gained _nothing_ from pity.

Renee must have picked up on his annoyance, as she finally gave up on her attempt of sympathy, and reached for a book on the shelf beside her.

“I finished this last night,” she said. “I don’t think you will relate to the protagonist much but I think you’ll enjoy reading the sections written from the anti-hero’s point of view.”

She slid the book over the table towards him, and Andrew examined the cover and the synopsis briefly before putting it in his bag, pulling out the book she had given him two days ago.

Andrew had been reading a lot more since he stopped seeing Neil. Bee claimed it was escapism, something Andrew was extremely familiar with, but he was content to spend the majority of his time in fantasy worlds until he was ready to deal with the mess of his reality.

Andrew didn’t spend much longer at Renee’s bookstore. Climbing the stairs to his apartment, Andrew could hear heavy bangs coming from the other side of his front door. When he opened the door, Kevin was doing what Andrew had explicitly asked him not to do. Andrew’s cardboard boxes had left squares of dust around the living room, and through the half-open doorway to his bedroom Andrew could see stacks of them around his bed and desk. At least Kevin had been courteous enough to make sure they were lined up correctly and wouldn’t threaten to topple over and crush Andrew in his sleep, though Andrew was far past the point of caring about what little courtesy Kevin had offered.

Kevin had his headphones, so he didn’t hear Andrew step up behind him and yank him backways by his shirt.

“Hey!” Kevin swung his arm around in an attempt to knock out his assailant, but he hadn’t anticipated that his attacker was more than a foot shorter than him, so his fist sailed over Andrew’s head and only left Kevin off balanced. Renee would have made several comments and corrections, and Andrew might have been amused by Kevin’s inevitable spluttering and indignance if he was in the mood to be amused by anything at all.

Andrew was far from amusement. He didn’t like Kevin touching his things, he didn’t like people going into his bedroom, and he didn’t like being stalled in his plan for a nap.

“Kevin,” Andrew said lowly, yanking Kevin down to eye-level by the front of his shirt. He wanted to be intimidating, but Kevin’s lavender face-mask was killing the mood. “What did I tell you about touching my things and going into my room?”

Unfortunately, Kevin had grown a bit of a backbone since he started dating Jean and Jeremy. Kevin scowled at Andrew and pulled free of his grasp. “It’s getting ridiculous, Andrew. You can’t keep all of this shit in here when we both know you’re not going to do anything with it. Either throw it out and move on or litter your own room. I won’t live in this junk yard any longer.”

Andrew shoved him back. “Stay out of my things.” For good measure he added, “Or I’ll tell Jean and Jeremy that you didn’t know how to do any household chores until you transferred to PSU. Do you remember the time you dyed your Away uniform pink?”

He expected Kevin to back down, or at least huff off in a strop, but Kevin only scoffed and said haughtily, “They already know and they happen to find it endearing.”

Andrew didn’t have another threat up his sleeve, not when Riko was out of the picture and Kevin no longer needed his protection, so he shoved Kevin’s side with his shoulder as he pushed past him towards his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he wanted it to be.

Kevin had thankfully left the bed free, but Andrew doubted he’d be able to sleep in a room that would look unfamiliar in the dark. A stack of boxes in daylight could become sinister looking shadows once night fell. He prepared himself for a restless night, and dragged a fingertip along the corner of the box closest to him. The top wasn’t shut properly, its content amounting to more than the box could contain. Andrew thought about sending a photo to Bee so she could use it as a metaphor for other clients, but he didn’t want her to start thinking it was an apt metaphor for _him._ Too many emotions wasn’t Andrew’s problem; if Andrew were a box, he would be empty.

Andrew flipped open the top, and examined the riot of junk within.

Andrew pulled out the red alarm clock that he had once thought were the red rollerskates Neil had found in _Afterlife Antiques,_ it’s brass bells scratched and smudged, the plastic of the clock face shattered. For three months it had sat in his apartment, hidden away in a cardboard box, but before that Andrew had found it on the pavement next to a skip, alongside a house marked FOR SALE, no longer the secret thread of time, releasing hours one by one.

Andrew stopped. Didn’t dare to breathe.

He had the beginnings of an idea trapped between his thumb and his index finger, holding it tight as it threatened to escape back into the void of inspiration. Eventually Andrew managed to cement it into his mind, tangible and real, and he took it with him as he left his room and crouched down in front of his bookcase in the living room. He pulled out one of the few poetry books he had—an anthology Renee had gifted him last year—and flicked through to Pablo Neruda’s _Ode to Broken Things._ The majority of the poem was quickly dismissed, but one stanza in particular caught his attention. The idea sparked to life.

_And that clock whose sound was the voice of our lives,  
the secret thread of our weeks, which released one by one, so many hours  
for honey and silence, for so many births and jobs  
_

__

He took the book with him as he went back to his room, throwing it onto his bed as he cleared his desk of both folded and unfolded clothes. He set the potted plants along the floor to take through to the living room and kitchen later. The book was placed onto the left side of his desk, along with the clock , beside the large cutting mat he used as a worktop.

__

Andrew sat down in his desk chair, laid out his materials, reached for his typewriter, and began to work.

Clock. Red. Brass bells. Shattered clock face.  
Found: Next to a skip outside a house up for sale.

* * *

**“S** ize ten, please.”

__

Neil straightened from where he was leaning across the counter of the roller-skate exchange at _The Foxhole Court._ He took the pair of ratty converse the girl held out, and swapped them for a pair of orange roller-skates with white straps.

__

“Thanks,” the girl said, taking the skates, though Neil only nodded in response and went back to leaning.

__

“Neil.”

__

Neil looked up to see Dan standing in front of him with a slight frown. Neil wasn’t sure if it was because she’d just had her braids redone—something that had her hissing in pain every time she adjusted her hair—or because Neil was a pathetic waste of space.

__

“I think you need a new assignment. Something to take your mind off Andrew.”

__

So it wasn’t her new braids, then.

__

Neil hid his face in his folded arms, and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

__

“What?”

__

Neil just shrugged. He hadn’t said anything worth repeating. Dan poked him in the elbow, and Neil grumbled a low, “Hey,” while pulling his elbow out of her reach.

__

“I’m serious. It’s been over a week and I’ve never seen you like this.”

__

“It’s pathetic,” a second voice added. Neil looked up to see Allison standing beside Dan, looking less concerned and more judgemental.

__

“Fuck you,” Neil muttered, not having the motivation for a proper retort.

__

“Exactly. I’d say I was heartbroken if it didn’t imply I had a heart.”

__

“Aw, you have a heart, Allison,” Matt said as he walked over to Dan’s other side. He moved to kiss Dan’s forehead before he thought better of it and kissed her shoulder instead. Dan leaned into it without thinking and whined, clasping her scalp. Allison stopped her judgement of Neil in favour of giving Dan a rare look of sympathy.

__

“I don’t,” she said to Matt, rubbing a hand over Dan’s back. “I gave it to Renee.”

__

Matt made a cooing noise, while Dan just raised her eyebrows. “You’re getting unusually emotional.”

__

“She’s unusually wonderful,” Allison said with a dismissive flick of her fingers. She pointed to Neil. “And I’m not letting my love life distract us from whatever mess Neil made.”

__

Neil groaned and pushed himself up. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

__

“You never want to talk about it,” Dan muttered.

__

“You don’t seem to be _doing_ anything about it, either,” Allison added.

__

“There’s nothing to do,” Neil said. “He won’t want to see me.”

__

“Have you asked?” Matt asked.

__

“No,” Neil said, and winced at his petulant tone.

__

Matt gave him a pointed look, but the ring from the disabled toilet alarm caught his attention and he left the girls to deal with Neil.

__

Allison opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Neil’s phone ringing. His heart stuttered at the ringtone he had set up for _Moriyama Muses._ Allison stepped back and strutted back to her chair by the rink to make sure guests were skating safely. Dan stayed where she was, a silent companion to Neil’s misery.

__

Neil pulled out his phone and let out a slow, controlled breath before he answered.

__

“Hello?”

“Nathaniel.” Neil’s blood ran cold at the sound of Ichirou’s voice. He had been expecting his assistant to be on the line, but perhaps the time Neil had taken on Andrew’s assignment made Ichirou want to have this conversation himself. “I have another assignment for you. Come up to my office in an hour.”

__

“Yes, sir,” Neil said, and kept his phone held to his ear even after Ichirou hung up.

__

Dan didn’t ask, but her questioning gaze spoke enough.

__

“I’ve got to go,” Neil said.

__

Dan nodded. “Come back after? We were thinking of a movie night.”

__

“Okay,” Neil said, and left _The Foxhole Court_ as quickly as he could.

__

* * *

__

**T** he Muses had to have their movie night without Neil in the end. He’d texted Dan while he was at the airport waiting for his flight to San Francisco Airport, but he’d turned his phone off before she got the chance to reply. He was now sitting outside his gate, waiting for the overhead screen to tell him he could board the plane.

__

Alvarez was meant to meet him in San Francisco. They were a Muse employed by the Moriyamas, but they were taking a couple months leave after they dropped their last assignment.

__

Neil pulled out his assignment file from his bag, and flipped to the first page. A photograph—likely taken from social media—revealed a young Black woman with a patterned head-scarf covering her hair, smiling brightly at the camera. A pair of round sunglasses were laid on the table in front of her, and Neil could make out the reflection of Alvarez holding up their phone to take the picture.

__

Neil pulled the photograph out from under the gold paperclip, and reattached it to the inside of the cover so he could read the contents of the first page.

LAILA DERMOTT

Pronouns: she/her  
Age: 27yrs, 10mths  
Height: 5ft, 8in

Laila was a film director, recently graduated from her masters course at the San Francisco Art Institute. Neil’s file revealed stills from a range of her films, all independently made with a small crew. He found a transcript of an interview Laila had undergone last year at her last screening, explaining that her films were ‘poetic documentaries’, that focus on experiences and aim to evoke feeling rather than objective truth. She described her work as abstract and loose with narrative, explaining that the unconventional sub-genre allowed her to be more experimental with form and content.

Most of this went straight over Neil’s head, but he thought he grasped the gist of it.

__

Neil didn’t look at the following pages that indicated the persona he was supposed to be. The overhead screen flashed green and Neil looked up to find that his plane was now boarding. He handed over his boarding pass and passport. He thought he might have smiled, or maybe nodded, when he was given them back, but he didn’t remember the walk from the gate to the plane.

__

The stairs leading up to the plane stood before him, and he exhaled a shaky breath. He climbed up onto the plane and left Neil Josten behind.

__

Or rather, he attempted to. Neil landed in San Francisco at two in the afternoon, despite his efforts to shake his last persona and embody ‘Tristan’. ‘Tristan’ was number sixteen in Neil’s twenty-two names and personalities, a fan of bold colours and jewel-tones, but Neil still found himself reaching for the black items of clothing in his new wardrobe. It didn’t leave him many options, but it would do for his first day.

__

Neil was to meet Alvarez at _The Maguey Rabbit_ to go over his new assignment with their girlfriend. Allison had filled Neil in on the Muses’ circulatory gossip while she was dying his hair to a dusty shade of brown. Alvarez had been Laila’s assigned Muse, but once they realised they were falling in love with her, and that Laila returned those feelings, Alvarez had dropped the assignment and taken a few months leave so that they could date Laila away from the eyes of the Moriyamas.

__

It didn’t take him long to find the cocktail bar, and he spotted Alvarez seated at a table in the corner. He wove a path around tables until he dropped into the chair opposite Alvarez. They were flipping through a cocktail menu, but dropped it when they heard Neil’s approach.

__

“They have a two-for-one deal on if you want to go halves?” they asked.

__

“I don’t drink,” Neil said, before remembering that Tristan did. He’d have to build up his tolerance if he were to start drinking in front of Laila.

__

Alvarez accepted that easily. “The mocktails look good. I’m feeling something fruity.”

__

Neil picked up the second drinks menu, flipped through the six pages of tequila-based cocktails, and found the non-alcoholic drinks at the back. He was considering just ordering a glass of apple juice before his eyes caught on one of the mocktails made to look like a whiskey old fashioned.

__

It had been Andrew’s drink of choice, the one time he had invited Neil along to a bar named _BACCHUS._ Neil hadn’t enjoyed the crowds or the loud music, but he remembered one moment where he and Andrew had gone to the bar to get another round of drinks—Andrew being the only one drinking, since Neil and Kevin didn’t, and Jean and Jeremy were staying sober in support of their boyfriend—and a group of people shouldered their way up to the bar counter, pushing Neil into Andrew. Neil had expected Andrew to reach over and push them back to give Neil more room, or even step back himself to provide a few inches distance between himself and Neil, but instead Andrew had simply taken his weight and let Neil lean on him until they were served. Their bartender seemed to know Andrew’s order by heart, so neither Neil nor Andrew had to lean over the bar to shout names of drinks. Andrew hadn’t moved away from Neil until he picked up the tray.

__

Neil had thought that being around the Muses was the same as being held up, but he could never let them do it properly when he always kept his feet planted on the ground. He realised in that moment that he had never given the Muses a real chance to be relied on, but he had given that chance to Andrew. It had been terrifying and liberating all at once, to realise how much he had started to rely on Andrew’s presence in his life.

__

But it was stupid to rely on anything, as the last week had proved. His mother would have yanked him by his hair and said, _I told you so._

__

The waitress came over soon enough, and Neil noticed her name—Maya—embroidered into her shirt just above a pin that labelled her as the owner. She took their orders efficiently, and Neil and Alvarez talked about the other Muses—the only topic of small talk Neil didn’t find tedious—until she returned with their drinks. She set two tall glasses of something blue in front of Alvarez, and a glass of apple juice in front of Neil. When he took a sip, he imagined Andrew’s reaction to Neil’s choice of drink. It wasn’t that it wasn’t alcoholic, since Neil knew that Andrew rarely crossed the line into inebriation, but rather the lack of added sugar and artificial sweeteners.

__

Alvarez made a soft groaning noise after taking a sip of their cocktail. “God, this is so good. Neil, make sure I don’t order six more of these because I can’t afford that.”

__

Neil only hummed. Alvarez was almost six feet tall and could definitely beat Neil in a fight. If they wanted to order six more mocktails Neil wouldn’t be able to stop them.

__

Eventually Alvarez let Neil ask them questions about Laila’s work and her artmaking process. It wasn’t a straight-forward task. Between each tidbit relevant to Neil’s assignment there were six other tidbits about Laila and Alvarez’s relationship. Neil mostly tuned out the details, uninterested in gossip, but his attention snagged on one thing they said offhand.

__

“Wait, she found out that you’re a Muse?” Neil asked.

__

Alvarez nodded, stirring their drink with a paper straw. “I told her. I didn’t want to hide this part of my life from her anymore. What kind of love is that?”

__

Neil didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure that if he opened his mouth he’d be able to hide the bitterness he felt. There was no point in dwelling on lost causes, but he was infinitely envious that Alvarez had better luck with Laila than Neil had with Andrew. As soon as Neil had come clean Andrew had cut him loose, and Neil didn’t deserve any better.

__

There was no point in dwelling on it when he couldn’t change the past, but for a moment Neil wondered. He thought about Laila and Alvarez’s story and how Alvarez had told Laila they were a Muse much earlier on in their relationship. He wondered how things might be different if Neil had told Andrew the truth sooner.

__

Andrew had unwittingly become a rock for Neil to anchor himself on. His family were the Muses, but they moved around as often as he did. It was rare for the four of them to be based in the same city for longer than a couple days at a time. He had never before had a reason to call anywhere _home._ Not before Andrew, at least. Neil had told Andrew his worst fears regarding his father, and Andrew had nodded in the face of it, had stood his ground, had given him a key to his apartment.

__

But Neil had told him that he was a Muse, and Andew had walked away.

__

Neil dragged his attention back to Alvarez, Laila, and San Francisco, and told himself not to think of Andrew ever again.

__

It was a promise to himself that he knew he’d never keep.

__

* * *

__

**A** ndrew was flat on his back staring up at the speckled ceiling tiles of his and Renee’s regular room in _Andraste’s._ It was a familiar sight, more so when his water bottle hovered in the corner of his vision. He accepted the bottle from Renee’s outstretched hand, and guzzled down a third of the contents before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

__

“Are you ready to talk about it yet?” Renee asked.

__

Andrew was glad that the plastic was solid enough not to react to his fingers tightening around the bottle. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

__

“I’ll take that as a no, then.”

__

Renee was always a lot closer to her old self when she’d just pummeled Andrew into the ground. Smiles were sharper, jokes were dirtier, and she had a lot less patience for Andrew’s bullshit. Andrew usually preferred her like this, never understood why she was so determined to become the demure caricature she presented to the world. Even though Renee never judged Andrew for his decisions, it was easier to talk to her when she wasn’t acting like she’d never do the same again. In pastel colours Renee seemed like she was above Andrew’s actions, but with _this_ Renee—with Natalie Shields closer to the surface—Andrew saw someone who was willing to do whatever it took to protect her own.

__

“He was a good liar,” Andrew said eventually. Renee heard the unspoken, _I believed him._

__

“What did he lie about?” Renee asked. Andrew flicked her a look, but she didn’t pay it any mind. “It’s not a rhetorical question. What did he lie about?”

__

“Lying by omission,” Andrew allowed. “He left out the part that the only reason he met me and hung out with me was because he’d been paid to do so.”

__

“Did he?”

__

Andrew was getting frustrated at the string of questions rather than answers that left Renee’s lips. He thought this was what friends were supposed to be there for, or at least that’s what Bee had told him. _Clarification. Guidance. Support._ Renee was just echoing everything that he said with a questioning lilt.

__

“Did he what.” Andrew didn’t phrase it like a question.

__

“Was the reason he hung out with you because he’d been paid to?”

__

“I told you last week what he said. Word for word.”

__

Renee hummed. “He said that he’d arranged your first meeting and that your night finding King’s owner was a sham. That doesn’t cover the three months after.”

__

“I hadn’t made any work,” Andrew said, and then sneered. “He still had a job to finish. In case it had escaped your attention, he’s gone. I started making work and he’s all but vanished.”

__

“You told him to leave.”

__

Andrew put his water bottle down and felt the thin carpet under his hands. “What’s your point, Renee?”

__

Renee didn’t answer immediately, considering her words in the way that Natalie rarely did. Her demure caricature was rebuilding itself, a layer of paint thick enough to hide uneven canvas. “So he’s actually some jock who doesn’t like ice-cream instead of this unattainable fantasy created for your benefit. He lied about the circumstances of how you met, but what if that’s it? What if everything else was real?”

__

_Everything else._ It was a mild way of describing how infinitesimally angry Neil made him. All that talk about how important names were to the sense of identity, and ‘Neil Josten’ wasn’t even real. Andrew knew that Neil had fabricated the clues of the trail to a ‘lost’ cat’s home, had curated every section of that night into a manifestation of Andrew’s art. The worst part was that it had so obviously _worked._ Andrew hadn’t started making work immediately after they returned King, but it was clear that the act of finding a lost thing and finding its place had wheedled its way into Andrew’s mind and started tinkering with his creative block. Neil was the key to a lock Andrew thought long rusted over.

__

“Nothing about it was real,” Andrew said. “Truths resting on a false foundation will crumble when the lie is brought out from under them.”

__

“Life isn’t a game of Jenga, Andrew,” Renee said. “Besides. There might have been enough of the truth in that foundation to provide stability for the rest. You can’t know the tower will fall unless you try to pull out the pieces one by one.”

__

“I don’t need to know the details of every single lie he told me. I can fill in the missing pieces fine on my own.”

__

“You can,” Renee allowed. “But what you assume won’t necessarily be the truth. Neil isn’t one of your art pieces. Those objects can’t speak for themselves, can’t tell you their true stories. Neil can.”

__

Andrew didn’t let himself break eye contact for a while, refusing to admit a moment of weakness, but eventually Renee looked away and Andrew let himself lean back on his hands to stare up at the ceiling tiles freckled with constellations.

__

He hated it when Renee was right.

__


	7. SECOND CHANCES

**N** eil was holding Laila’s tripod, trying not to jab passersby with the ends of it as they walked through Bayview. He wasn’t worried about accidentally hurting someone, but rather altering something on the tripod as a leg hit another body. He didn’t want Laila to have to readjust all the settings so her photos and videos weren’t unbalanced.

Laila was on the lookout for inspiration. Most mornings, she would go out into town to find something or someone to film. She’d tried to get Neil in front of the camera, which Tristan would have leapt at the opportunity to do, but Neil was awkward and shifty until Laila lowered her camera with a pitying expression that reminded Neil a little of Dan and a little of Allison. Perhaps Dan if she wasn’t worried about hurting Neil’s feelings, or Allison if she worried a little more.

She’d so far taken short clips of people sitting in their gardens on deck chairs, tourists perusing shops and trying on the hats and sunglasses they never intended to buy. It wasn’t until they got back to Laila’s rented desk space that Neil saw the footage for himself.

Neil still wasn’t used to seeing himself with dusty brown hair, and the sunglasses Alvarez had lent him were so far from his usual sense of style that Neil almost didn’t recognise himself. He wasn’t looking at the camera, though even if he had noticed that Laila had been filming him, he would have looked at her rather than the lens.

There were more shots of him at a distance, watching the people around him with a wary gaze, than there were close-ups, but it was the close-ups that he felt most unsettled by.

He looked… sad.

He didn’t let himself dwell on it, and neither did Laila. She’d only just transferred the footage from her camera to her laptop, but now she dragged the video files to a folder labelled DELETE.

Neil turned to her, surprised. “What?”

Laila didn’t return his look as she unplugged her camera and packed her hard-drive back into her rucksack. “It won’t actually delete it in case it becomes useful in a few years for another project, but it’s no good for me now. I don’t need it.”

Neil didn’t answer. He didn’t know whether that was a good approach to her work or not, since he wasn’t an artist himself. It did remind him, as everything seemed to recently, of Andrew. Andrew had kept all of his found items in boxes in his apartment, refusing to throw them out in the hope that he would find their stories if he gave them enough time.

Laila had no such sentimentality, only archiving her footage as a practicality rather than a refusal to throw things away.

Neil half wished that Andrew had given him enough time to make it up to him, and half wished that he hadn’t lied to Andrew in the first place. Neil knew it wouldn’t have made much of a difference: if he had told Andrew from the start that he had been hired to inspire him then Andrew would have only kicked him out sooner.

Neil blinked and then realised there was a camera pointed at him. He looked over it to meet Laila’s gaze, and she lowered it again. “I’ll delete it for real if you don’t want me to use it.”

Neil shrugged. If he couldn’t embody Tristan to inspire her, then the least he could do was let her use whatever of ‘Neil’ he had left. “It’s fine.”

She gave him an amused look at that. “Don’t think I don’t know that you say that an awful lot.”

Neil frowned, not understanding how she knew. He didn’t think he had said it aloud over the last few days since meeting Laila, or if he had it wouldn’t have been that suspicious. He had started to say it for a reason; everyone said that they were fine regardless of whether it was true or not.

“Oh, honey,” Laila said, in a tone that was both sympathetic and condescending. It reminded Neil of being around the Muses; what Neil used to think felt like home. She shook her head slightly in exasperation. “So you don’t like being in front of the camera. Isn’t painting worse? Someone staring at you for hours on end while you have to hold the same pose?”

 _Sometimes,_ Neil thought, recalling being Michael and spending most of his assignment in a life drawing classroom. Though Neil didn’t understand where the question came from. “What?”

“I mean when you’re working with other artists. Did you ever have to pose for portraits? Or sculptors? How does it work if they’re a musician? Alvarez can’t sing for shit, no matter how often they act otherwise. You know my neighbour asked me to let him know when they’re gonna have a shower just so he can leave his apartment in advance. I love them so much but for fuck’s sake—”

Neil had stopped paying attention after _when you’re working with other artists._ He cut in with, “You know I’m a Muse?”

Laila raised a brow at his interruption. “You think I can’t work out that you showing up out of the blue is directly linked to my girlfriend telling me that they won’t date a client?”

“Yes?”

At that Laila let out a bright laugh. “You’re so stupid,” she said, in the same way she called Averez a bitch and called their pet rabbit Leonardo a bastard. Neil smiled, trying not to think of the times Andrew had said the same thing. Andrew didn’t laugh like Laila did, his mouth didn’t make the same shape when he smiled, but there was something similar in the amusement in their eyes.

“What is it?” Laila asked, sounding almost exasperated.

“What?”

“You were smiling, because I’m funny and beautiful and a delight to be around, and then you got sad. Why?”

Neil contemplated not answering, or trying to deflect the question, but Laila was sharp as a knife and Neil was _not_ having a good week when it came to lying.

“My last assignment did not end well,” he said at length.

“You want to talk about it?” Laila wasn’t looking at him now, back to going through her footage with a fine comb.

“Why?”

Laila huffed at that, but wasn’t surprised enough to look up from her work. “Because sometimes having a fresh perspective can help solve a problem. I thought that’s what Muses were meant to do.”

Neil supposed she was right. When an artist believed they were in a block they rarely made the same effort to look for inspiration, so the Muses were there as a distraction from the cycle of doubt while also offering suggestions for their work within the artist’s usual discipline.

It was why Neil had so many fabricated personalities. Artists worked best with Muses of extremes: someone so different from themselves that they had to see the world from an entirely different point of view, or someone singularly similar to them, allowing the artist to see what they would usually be able to under different circumstances.

It was why Neil was supposed to have been a good match for Andrew. There were the details he had made up—like not liking Exy and having a sweet tooth—but the crux of ‘Neil Josten’ had been genuine in a way Neil had never known before.

Everything that mattered had been real, and Andrew didn’t want anything to do with him. If Neil was as reckless as some of the Muses claimed he was, he’d tell Ichirou that he’d made a huge mistake in assigning Andrew with Neil. Andrew needed someone who would put Andrew’s art first and not make up excuses to spend time with him for the sake of it, someone without Neil’s gruesome past, someone who could shoulder Andrew’s troubles in the same way Andrew had shouldered Neil’s.

Andrew deserved something more real than what a liar could ever pretend to be.

Now that Neil was off Andrew’s case, he wondered how quickly another Muse could fix Neil’s mistakes, and help Andrew in a way Neil never could.

* * *

**T** he lights inside _The Foxhole Court_ were switched off when Andrew found himself standing outside the painted brick building. Andrew wondered who the fuck had decided on the colour scheme; orange and white was an eyesore to say the least. This time, no UNFORESEEN/FORESEEN notice hung in the window. Andrew was met with nothing, but not the nothing he was looking for.

He slid out a pair of lockpicks from his left armband and knelt in front of the door without bothering to check if anyone was passing by. It was the middle of the day but Andrew didn’t care enough to avoid being caught. He wouldn’t wait until nightfall.

The lock didn’t take long to pick. Andrew brushed bits of loose gravel from his knees as he stood up, and he flicked on the lights once he slipped inside.

It wasn’t just the lights that had been turned off. He couldn’t hear the steady, low hum of the freezer and air conditioning. A thin layer of dust had settled on the surfaces of the benches and tables, and when Andrew headed over to the ice-cream counter he found that the door to the kitchen had been left open.

Andrew pulled out his phone and tapped out a message. He felt a new sort of urgency that he hadn’t before, like the seconds spent on pressing buttons to cycle through letters could be better spent tracking down Neil. He wondered if he should finally let Nicky buy him a new phone.

  
**Andrew:** Send me Allison’s number.  
  


It wasn’t long before Renee’s reply came through. 

  
**Renee:** +1 555 0191  
  
  
**Renee:** What’s this about, Andrew?  
  


Andrew considered not responding, but there was as much of a chance of Allison telling Renee where Neil was, as there was Allison refusing to tell Andrew.

  
**Andrew:** Where is Neil?  
  
  
**Renee:** I’m sorry, Andrew. I don’t know. Will Allison?  
  
  
**Andrew:** They work together.  
  
  
**Renee:** I’ll ask her if you want?  
  


It was the wiser choice. Andrew knew that he wasn’t the most personable person, and Allison’s attraction to Renee was definitely something Andrew was willing to exploit.

  
**Andrew:** Make her ring me if she knows.  
  


Renee didn’t respond immediately, which Andrew was expecting but still didn’t appreciate. He used his index finger to draw dicks and expletives in the dust.

When Andrew’s phone started vibrating on the counter, it disturbed the dust around it. On another day Andrew would have documented it in a photograph, replicated it in his apartment or the wallspace Renee left clear for Andrew’s work. He would have imagined positioning lost phones on the shelf in _Walker Way With A Book,_ and set them to ring at regular intervals and photograph the aftermath.

But it wasn’t another day, and Andrew had no thoughts to spare for his work. His mind was racing through _Neil Neil Neil Neil Neil._

He flipped open his phone and answered the call from an unknown mobile number. Unlike his usual protocol, Andrew spoke first. “Where is he?”

“Pleasure to speak to you too, Minyard.”

“Reynolds,” Andrew growled, a low warning in his tone.

“For someone who wants my help you sound awfully rude. One might think that Neil didn’t mean that much to you.”

Andrew’s answer was automatic, though not entirely truthful. He didn’t let himself dwell on it when he had more pressing matters, but made no promises to himself to analyse it later. “He doesn’t.”

Allison only scoffed, and Andrew’s fingers tightened around his phone. She didn’t know enough about Andrew to earn the right to have expectations. He didn’t care enough to hang up on her though, so Andrew only waited for silence to settle like another layer of dust at _The Foxhole Court._

Allison sighed, as if tired of Andrew’s non-reaction. “He has a new assignment,” she said, somehow knowing that Andrew knew Neil was a Muse. “I don’t know where, but Dan will.”

Andrew didn’t bother asking who Dan was. He’d find out soon enough. “How will I find them?”

“She’ll find you. I’ll pass on your number.”

Allison hung up before Andrew got the chance to demand she gave him Dan’s number. He didn’t want to wait for messages to be sent all over, likely between the constant stream of useless chit-chat. Andrew started a tally chart of the seconds it took Dan to contact Andrew, so he’d know exactly how many times he should hit something—probably her—if he found Neil too late.

Allison had said that Neil was on another assignment, but Neil had told Andrew what he had been running from for so long. If the Moriyamas were powerful enough to protect Neil from his father, then they were powerful enough to be a threat. Riko had been bad enough, but the main branch had power Riko couldn’t dream of.

Andrew had reached twenty-eight tally points by the time his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

  
**Unknown:** brekstas  
  


_Breksta’s_ didn’t open for another few hours, but he wouldn’t bother telling Dan that. She would find out that it was closed when Andrew was standing outside waiting for her. Andrew didn’t reply to her text, shoving his phone back into his pocket and letting the doors slam shut behind him.

Most of the chairs had been placed atop the tables, and the diner was eerily quiet. Even at four in the morning it rarely reached this level of silence. Andrew hadn’t been back to _Breksta’s_ since Neil told him the truth. He’d had sleepless nights, because of course he had, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to the refuge _Breksta’s_ used to be. It was no longer a place to self-isolate when his memory of it was so intricately tangled with Neil and the cat and the scavenger hunt around the city that Neil had undoubtedly orchestrated.

It wasn’t Dan that Andrew recognised first. Matt had rather distinct hair, dreads stylised like some Killmonger-wannabe, though from the back Andrew couldn’t see the even more distinctive smile. Dan was sat opposite Matt, and Andrew would have recognised her yellow pullover from the day she nearly bumped into Andrew—which he was now certain had been intentional.

Dan looked up at Andrew’s entrance, and Matt turned slightly to see over his shoulder. He wasn’t smiling now. Neither said anything as Andrew pulled a chair over instead of taking one of the seats next to them.

“What do you want with Neil?” Dan asked, and if Andrew had the capability to be a grateful person, he might have been grateful for her directness.

As it was, directness did not equal the right to questions Andrew didn’t want to answer. “I fail to see how that’s any of your business.”

 _“Neil_ isn’t any of your business,” Dan snapped. “And yet here we are.”

Out of the corner of his eye Andrew saw Matt’s knee move, and he glanced down to notice Matt had pushed his leg forward to nudge his foot against Dan’s boot in a silent show of support.

“Do you know where he is or not?” Andrew asked, placing his palms on the table as if to stand up and leave, as if he didn’t truly care whether they would tell him Neil’s whereabouts.

“I do,” Dan said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You should be asking whether I will tell you or not. So far, I think Neil’s better off without you.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Matt cut in, holding a hand out to Dan, though it seemed more in comfort than to hold her back. He turned to Andrew. “Neil is safe. You don’t need to act like he’s been kidnapped by the mafia.”

Andrew flicked him a bored look. “Spare me the dramatic cop-show plotlines. You’re all working for the Moriyamas. You know that isn’t picking daisies for a living and you must be really stupid if you think Neil would become a Muse if he had other options.” Dan gritted her teeth at that, and Matt stood down. “So I will ask one more time,” Andrew continued. “Where is he?”

It was Matt who answered, though he looked at Dan long enough to have a silent conversation straight out of a Disney movie. “He’s in San Francisco. Alvarez is with them.”

Andrew only stayed in _Breksta’s_ long enough for Matt to scrawl down an address on a napkin.

* * *

**“T** he Thomas 3000!” Neil said, affecting a New York accent. He then changed to a Floridean accent. “Smoker?” He changed back to the New Yorker. “Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice the nicotine, all the tar. A couple breaths of this knocks them right—” Neil switched back to his normal voice, the accent of a Baltimore native who’d tried to force it out for the majority of his life. “Laila, this is awful.”

“It’s an analysis of contemporary—” She stopped when she realised Neil wasn’t paying attention. “But it’s too early in the day for that. Tell me more about Andrew.”

A day ago, Neil would have refused. Now he’d started to expect this fixture in this assignment. Whenever they weren’t talking about Laila’s work, they were talking about Andrew. It was almost entirely Alvarez’s fault. While Laila was curious and wanting a distraction from her work, Alvarez was determined to get as much gossip from Neil as possible. They claimed it was because they were going through withdrawal from being a Muse, and Neil had half a mind to believe it considering how the Muses were as preoccupied with gossip as they were with bets.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Laila said, sliding a coloured filter in front of her camera lens and snapping it in place. “So you told him that you were a Muse. Then what?”

“And then nothing,” Neil said. “He left.”

“And you didn’t go after him? You’re a terrible romantic.”

Neil didn’t quite understand how Romanticism was relevant. Besides, Neil always thought he fell into the Enlightenment side of the divide. He understood why people liked art for art’s sake, but he could connect to an artist more when he understood _why_ their work was the way it was. He understood Andrew’s work because of his past in foster care and his deal with Kevin. Andrew liked things where they belonged.

Neil decided to ignore the second part of what Laila said, and replied to the first. “I won’t chase someone who doesn’t want to be chased. Andrew left and I won’t go against his decision. What kind of person would that make me?”

“Hopefully a person who can continue with a script,” Laila said, focusing on her work once more. They had taken an hour long bus journey to the _June Jordan School for Equity,_ which Laila had been given permission to film in the apiary. She had been back and forth between the school and the rest of the city, but there had been something about the beehives that drew her in. While Alvarez had leaned back on their hands to listen with rapt attention, Neil had only half listened as Laila had discussed the bee as a metaphor for both the capitalist and the communist perfect worker, had rambled about what metaphors she could draw from the male worker bee’s role being a sexual partner for his queen, and raged about the limitations of how binary gender could even _define_ bees.

Neil often didn’t understand how the script she had given him related to metaphors about capitalism, communism, sexuality, or gender binaries, but he didn’t question it. They had a lot to do before they could head back to Laila and Alvarez’s apartment.

* * *

**C** alifornia was just as Andrew remembered it. The sky just as blue, the clouds just as sparse, the grass just as dry. The things that had changed—the airport signage, the size of the car park, the movie posters on buses—were in such a constant stage of impermanence that Andrew wouldn’t have normally taken note of if he weren’t trying to focus on the smaller details so he wouldn’t have to focus on the big one.

It had been eight years since he was last in California.

It had been a different airport, but Luther had collected Andrew from juvie and Andrew had ignored him for the entire flight to South Carolina. Mostly because he hadn’t wanted to deal with Luther’s bullshit about ‘redemption’ and ‘bringing the family together’, but also because it had been the moment Andrew discovered that he _really_ didn’t like flying.

Andrew typed in Alvarez’s address into his new phone’s navigation system, _Lam Lha Maps._ Nicky had been ecstatic when Andrew asked for his opinion on a new model, to the point where Andrew had hung up and looked online for opinions of people he didn’t know or trust.

Alvarez’s apartment was a short taxi ride away, and Andrew’s driver had only attempted conversation once. _And what brings you to the Golden State?_

Andrew didn’t want to think about what had brought him to California. Instead he watched the gold arrow on his phone’s screen follow the path to Alvarez’s apartment so he didn’t have to look outside.

After dropping sixty dollars onto the passenger seat Andrew climbed out and assessed the apartment block before him. It wasn’t anything special, but he noted the railing circling the roof to stop people falling off. Andrew ignored the probing thought, _Neil could be up there,_ and climbed the three steps to the front door. An intercom system was mounted by the door, and Andrew pressed the buzzer for LAILA DERMOTT & [REDACTED] ALVAREZ. It was a few moments before a voice crackled through the outdated speaker.

“Who dares disturb my slumber?”

Andrew paused. “Is this Alvarez?”

“Oh shit, I thought this was gonna be Laila. Who are you?”

“Andrew Minyard,” Andrew said, and was about to ask if Neil was with them when—

“Oh _shit.”_

Andrew didn’t trust that tone. “What.”

They didn’t reply, and instead the door opened with the crackling buzz of the intercom. Andrew only hesitated a beat before stepping inside. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him; he wouldn’t stay if Neil wasn’t inside, and if Neil was inside then it was up to him whether they stayed or not.

It had taken six hours spent 35,000 feet off the ground for Andrew to work out how he wanted to approach the problem that was Neil Josten. Finding him was only step one.

Alvarez and Laila lived on the third floor, and Andrew steadfastly didn’t look out of the window at the incrementing landings. He opened their front door without bothering to knock, and someone on the other side let out an _oof_ as Andrew pushed the door into them. Andrew stepped inside to find who he presumed was Alvarez, wearing a hideous pair of denim overalls. For a moment he wondered if all Muses had an innate sense of poor fashion, considering how quickly Neil stopped wearing tightly fitted clothes around Andrew. At the time, Andrew had believed that Neil had noticed Andrew’s attention and was trying to avoid being objectified, though Bee had asked him to consider if that was due to internalised homophobia. She believed that Neil started wearing looser fitted clothes because he was comfortable around Andrew, but Bee was always the optimist.

Alvarez didn’t say anything, assessing Andrew just as he had assessed them. Eventually they looked their fill and said, “Huh.”

Andrew didn’t ask for clarification. “Where is Neil?”

“He should be back soon with Laila,” Alvarez said. It wasn’t until that moment that Andrew realised that he had been expecting another round of interrogation, a _why do you want to know?_ followed by a thinly-veiled _Neil deserves better than you._

Andrew simply nodded, and turned to take a seat on the couch. It was only a second later that Alvarez threw themselves on the cushion next to him with their back to the arm rest. Andrew ignored their expectant expression, but it wasn’t long until their curiosity won out.

“So what are you going to tell him?” they asked. Andrew flicked them a bored look. “Oh, come on. Humour me. Neil told us that you walked out on him when he told you the truth.”

Andrew didn’t reply in favour of staring them down with a blank expression. Alvarez opened their mouth to say something undoubtably stupid, but they both looked over when they heard keys turning the lock of the front door.

A dark skinned woman—Laila, Andrew presumed—walked in first, with round sunglasses perched on her head, but Andrew didn’t pay her more than a first glance.

Neil followed her inside.

Neil, with dusty brown hair and brown eyes that blinked topaz.

Neil, who was smiling slightly at something Laila said.

Neil, who stopped short when he saw Andrew sat on the couch.

“Andrew,” he said, eyes wide and lips parted.

Andrew pushed his feet further into the ground to stop himself from going straight for him. He feigned a bored tone and said, “Neil.”

At that, Neil’s shoulders slumped with a release of something Andrew couldn’t quite put his finger on. He stepped forward, but he wasn’t the only one. Laila also made her way over to Andrew, index finger pointed at him accusationally. She opened her mouth to say something, but Neil raised a hand in front of her. “Don’t.”

Laila stopped and flicked him an exasperated look. After a beat she stepped back with her palms raised, and Neil redirected his attention back to Andrew. Andrew hadn’t stopped looking at him since he walked in.

Neil’s lips formed unspoken words before he seemed to deflate and asked, “Can we talk?”

Andrew didn’t say anything, but he finally got to his feet. His fingers twitched in an aborted movement to reach out and _touch,_ to confirm that Neil was here and unharmed and _real._ Andrew passed Neil through the open doorway and followed the signs for the stairwell.

The wind was cold in San Francisco, but Andrew didn’t feel comforted by the familiarity of it until Neil sat down beside him.

“Why are you here?” Neil eventually asked.

Andrew didn’t answer until he had two cigarettes lit. Neil took his and held it close to his face, his other hand cupping it to stop the wind from snuffing it out.

“You were here,” was what Andrew decided to say.

Neil frowned slightly, a small wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. Andrew wanted to wipe it off with his thumb, but he took a drag instead. “I don’t understand,” Neil said. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

Neil nodded. “I don’t keep the same number for more than one assignment.”

Andrew doubted that that had been Neil’s choice. He held his hand out, but Neil only looked at it until Andrew clarified, “Give me your phone.”

When Neil handed it over, Andrew sent himself a text message from Neil’s phone. He felt his own vibrate in his pocket, but he didn’t take it out to save Neil’s number yet. He took another drag on his cigarette, and Neil seemed to take that as a cue to do the same. The cherry of Neil’s cigarette relit with one breath, and Andrew felt his fingers twitch again when Neil exhaled into the open air. The sun was setting, and the warm colours set Neil’s hair aglow in a mockery of the auburn curls Andrew had come to know. This saturated brown lacked the fire of Neil Josten, and even the sunlight couldn’t make up for it.

“Staring,” Neil said.

Andrew didn’t reply, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away either.

“Do you have any questions, or do you just want to sit in silence and brood?”

“So the attitude problem wasn’t an act, at least.”

Neil wisely kept his mouth shut, but the silence didn’t last for long. “Most of it was real, Andrew.” He was still staring into the sky, and Andrew took the opportunity to watch unobserved as Neil’s expression flicker through a multitude of emotions. “The important parts were true.”

“‘Important’,” Andrew repeated, making air quotes with his cigarette perched between two fingers, “is subjective. Truth is irrefutable, untainted by bias.” With the same hand, he pointed his cigarette at the horizon. “Sunset, Abram, death. These are truths.”

“It was real for me,” Neil said, his eyes finally meeting Andrew’s. “Sunset. Abram. This.”

 _There is no ‘this’,_ was at the tip of his tongue, but this was a night of truths.

“I want to kiss you,” Andrew said instead.

Neil’s eyes widened, and Andrew flicked his gaze back to the setting sun, watching it sink down into the earth, into cold nothingness. But then Neil whispered, “I want you to,” and Andrew felt the last flicker of light warm his skin.

Andrew didn’t rush. He turned back to look at Neil slowly, unhurried. Neil was watching him carefully, but it wasn’t wariness in his expression. If Andrew didn’t know any better he would think that Neil was making sure he wouldn’t miss a single second. Andrew searched his face for several moments, for any hint of hesitation or regret, but came up empty handed. He stubbed his cigarette out on the surface of the roof, and when he lifted his gaze again he found that Neil had already done the same.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked.

At Neil’s quiet _yes,_ Andrew leaned in.

Neil’s lips were chapped and inexperienced, but if this was the only chance he had to kiss Neil Josten he would make it count. Neil might decide to stay a Muse, stay with his family, and Andrew wouldn’t leave his life behind either. Andrew’s heart stuttered to a stop when he felt Neil’s fingers knot in the heavy wool of his coat sleeve. His thoughts were wordless flashes of a roller-rink lit by neon lights, Neil falling backwards because he didn’t grab onto Andrew for support, all because Andrew had told him not to touch him.

Andrew pulled away and rested his forehead against Neil’s. He reached for Neil’s hands, and slowly brought them up to the sides of Andrew’s head. “Only here,” he said.

Neil nodded, and tentatively threaded his fingers in the strands of Andrew’s hair, gentle but firm enough to show his desperation for something to hold onto. Andrew waited a few moments to adjust to the feeling of being touched, of being held so carefully, and then met Neil’s gaze. He searched for hesitation again, a glance of _I changed my mind_ or _I don’t want to do this with you_ but Neil’s pupils were blown and he licked his lips, as if trying to taste the ghost of Andrew’s lips on his own.

Andrew didn’t think before leaning in again, his nose pressed uncomfortably against Neil’s until Neil angled his head again and met Andrew with such fervour that Andrew didn’t care about chapped lips or the hard floor biting into his palm from where he was holding them both steady.

Time was irrelevant. There was no itch under his skin creating a countdown of how long he could let this continue. Neil’s fingers didn’t move but the pressure on Andrew’s scalp was grounding in a way touch never had been before. It reminded Andrew that this was _Neil_ and that he wasn’t one of _them._ They both wanted this; they both said yes.

Andrew wrapped one hand around Neil’s throat, his thumb resting against Neil’s jaw and his fingertips brushing the buzz of Neil’s undercut. Neil’s breath stuttered when Andrew scraped his teeth against Neil’s lower lip, his heartbeat thrumming under Andrew’s hand. Andrew knew that it was just a figment of his imagination, but he couldn’t stop his mind from translating the rhythm: .- -. -.. .-. . .-- / .- -. -.. .-. . .-- / .- -. -.. .-. . .-- / .- -. -.. .-. . .--

It resounded through his head until the touch of Neil’s fingers began to feel overwhelming and they were both out of breath when they parted. Neil’s lips were red and kiss-swollen, and Andrew pulled out two new cigarettes to give himself a distraction. He batted away Neil’s offered old, half-smoked cigarette from earlier, and lit the new ones instead.

Half of his cigarette had smoldered to ash by the time Neil spoke. “They want me to stay here until I’ve finished Laila’s assignment. They’ll then move me again to somewhere else and they’ll keep moving me until I’ve paid my debt. I don’t want—” He cut himself off with a shaky breath, and shook his head slightly before he continued. “I won’t ask you to wait for me.”

Andrew knew that there was more to it than that, but he didn’t push. Instead he reached over and hooked his fingers in the collar of Neil’s sweatshirt and tugged just enough for him to feel it.

“I won’t wait,” Andrew said, and he saw the quiet resolve steel Neil’s eyes. Andrew didn’t let him pull himself out of Andrew’s grasp though, and held onto his sweatshirt tighter to keep him in place. “I don’t trust them to give you back.” Andrew thought he had been clear enough, but Neil still looked like Andrew had just told him that he was done with him. His obliviousness almost made that true. Almost. Andrew tugged at Neil’s collar again as if to shake some sense into him. “I will stay until you can leave.”

Neil finally understood what Andrew was telling him, and his lips parted slightly in shock. “You can’t fight them Andrew. They’re more powerful than anything you’ve ever dealt with before. They’re not even _human.”_

Andrew shrugged one shoulder as if it was inconsequential. It almost was. Andrew knew that he wasn’t capable of taking on the Moriyamas singlehandedly—he wasn’t stupid—but he also knew that there were other options.

“They’re not the only non-humans in this world,” Andrew said. “They won’t be a problem.”

Neil visibly swallowed. It wasn’t fear that bloomed across his face, but awe. Andrew raised his hand from Neil’s collar and prodded two fingers into his unscarred cheek to turn his face away.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

Neil didn’t ask what Andrew meant, but if he had Andrew wouldn’t have answered. Instead Neil batted Andrew’s hand away and turned back to face him. “I won’t let you risk your life trying to save me.”

“You don’t ‘let’ me do anything. If you think I wait for your permission then you need to speak to a therapist about grandiose delusions.”

“You spend all this time watching everyone else’s backs. Kevin, Aaron, Nicky, me. Who’s watching yours?”

“Are you volunteering for the job? Your resume looks a little patchy. You are a rabbit who runs at the first sight of trouble. I don’t need your protection and I sure as shit wouldn’t hire you.”

Neil flinched. Andrew pointed his cigarette in Neil’s face and feigned a bored tone he wasn’t feeling. “When they come for you, stand down and let me deal with it. Do you understand?”

“If it means losing you, then no.”

Andrew’s vision glared red, but his voice and expression were a mask of complete indifference. “I hate you.”

“You can hate me as long as you’re alive,” Neil said, and filched Andrew’s cigarette from between his fingers. Andrew watched as Neil brought it to his lips and inhaled, and when he met Neil’s gaze he saw that Neil was watching him, too.

“So you will go back to them,” Andrew started. “How did it feel to sell yourself out?”

“Worth every penny,” Neil said. “They gave me a life away from running from my father, a promise that I have a future. They offered me the chance to meet—”

“Don’t say something stupid,” Andrew cut in, slapping his hand over Neil’s mouth to drown out the rest of that sentence.

Neil slowly raised his own hand and wrapped it around Andrew’s wrist, looking at Andrew’s face for any sign to stop. Andrew let him do it, expecting it when Neil pulled Andrew’s hand away from his face, but he was surprised when Neil dragged his hold on Andrew’s wrist to Andrew’s hand, threading his fingers between his own. It was his surprise, Andrew told himself, that explained why Andrew didn’t pull away.

“I don’t want to be a Muse anymore,” Neil said at length. “I want to be Neil for as long as I can. But I won’t let them take you away from me. Not until you tell me to leave.”

Andrew tightened his fingers around Neil’s. “I’m telling Neil to stay.” He reached up with his other hand to tug at Neil’s dusty brown hair. “Leave whoever this is meant to be in San Francisco.”

Neil seemed to take comfort in that, contrary to his rabbit-nature. “Tristan never seemed to stick.”

Andrew briefly wondered who was in charge of the Muses’ name choices, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant. He watched as Neil lifted their joint hands and traced a zig-zag pattern across their fingers. It took Andrew a moment to place the pattern as the ridges of the key to Andrew’s apartment.

“Neil Abram Josten,” Neil murmured to himself, almost lost into the wind, and Andrew felt something in his chest shift into place.

Home was a dangerous, disquieting thing, but he thought perhaps he liked it.


	8. THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

**N** ight had fallen by the time they returned to Laila and Alvarez’s apartment. Someone had fetched the air mattress from the hallway cupboard, and Laila stepped out from the kitchen at the sound of the door unlocking. She had a mug of tea and a glass of water in her hands, and she jerked her head to the mattress.

“There’s more pillows in the cupboard if you need them,” she said.

“Are they back yet?” Alvarez called from the bedroom. They opened the bedroom door to find out for themselves, and accepted Laila’s offered tea with a groan of pleasure.

“Ugh, you’re incredible,” they said.

Laila nodded. “I know.”

Alvarez yawned dramatically, stretching their arms over their head, and Laila took the opportunity to loop her arm around their waist and tug them into their bedroom. “Night, boys!”

Neither Neil nor Andrew moved for a few moments, and Neil heard Laila and Alvarez’s giggling through the wall and cupboard doors opening and closing. Neil glanced at Andrew once more, but he was still looking out the window. When Neil stepped forward for the mattress, however, Andrew’s hand snatched out and grabbed hold of Neil’s t-shirt. Neil stopped and turned, but Andrew seemed to be thinking hard about something, his eyebrows slightly pinched. Neil waited for Andrew to figure out whatever he was considering, and then watched as Andrew passed him. Instead of grabbing his bag—which barely contained more than a sweater and his toothbrush—he walked over to the air mattress, and kicked it over toward the couch. He seemed to hesitate again, before picking his backpack up off the floor and dropping it on the blow-up mattress.

He turned around to face Neil. “We need to pick up your things.”

“I can just stay at the hotel,” Neil said. “Or you can. It’s already paid for and I know you don’t like sleeping with other people in the room.”

Andrew’s stare was hard. “Stop talking.”

Neil closed his mouth, and Andrew pulled out a phone out of his pocket. Neil wasn’t sure if it was new or if it was borrowed, but he didn’t get the chance to ask before Andrew started for the door. “We’re leaving.”

Neil followed Andrew downstairs, and accepted the lit cigarette Andrew offered once they were outside. A car arrived a few minutes later, and Neil spent the drive staring out the window and Andrew seemed to spend the majority of it looking at something on his phone. It wasn’t long before they pulled into a car rental. Andrew got out as soon as the driver pulled up, and since the driver didn’t protest when Neil pushed open the car door and climbed out, Neil assumed that Andrew had paid through his phone.

Neil trailed after Andrew to the office, but dropped into one of the plastic seats rather than hover over Andrew’s shoulder. Their reason for being there was self-explanatory. Other than Andrew and the woman behind the desk, the office was empty, so Neil zoned out until Andrew stood in front of him and kicked Neil’s foot. Andrew cocked his head toward the door, and Neil followed him to a small black car. He opened the passenger door once Andrew unlocked it. Andrew pulled out as soon as Neil had his seat belt fixed in place.

They arrived at the hotel a little while later, and followed Neil upstairs to his hotel room. Neil had never unpacked, so he made short work of grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom and throwing them into his duffle bag. Andrew held his hand out palm up, and Neil hesitated a second before reaching out and putting his own hand in Andrew’s.

Andrew looked down at their entwined fingers and said, “I meant your bag.”

“Oh.”

Neil tried to pull his hand away but Andrew held on, and then reached out with his other hand and took Neil’s duffle bag from him. Neil watched as Andrew lifted the strap over his shoulder, strangely fascinated with the way Andrew’s bicep flexed with the movement. The skin between his t-shirt and armband was slightly pink from the sun, and Neil briefly wondered if Laila or Alvarez would have any after-sun in their apartment, or whether they should stop and pick some up on their way back.

“Staring.”

There was no point in denying it. “Do you want me to stop?”

Instead of answering, Andrew tugged on Neil’s hand and they left the hotel room, dropping Neil’s key off at the front desk on their way out. Andrew only let go of Neil’s hand when they reached the car. As soon as they pulled out, Neil hovered his hand over the gear stick, and after a second Andrew took it, lacing their fingers together. He muttered something under his breath, but Neil didn’t catch it over the noise of the engine.

The traffic was heavier on their way back to Laila and Alvarez’s apartment, and at one point when they hadn’t moved for several minutes, Andrew connected his phone to the speaker system of the car and selected a playlist. Neil didn’t recognise the music, but he was used to that and didn’t think to ask. Neither spoke, and the rhythmic bass and lyrics drowned out the sound of the city.

The lights were still off when Neil unlocked the front door with the key Laila had lent him for the duration of his assignment. Neil still thought it odd that Laila wanted to work with him while she knew that he was a Muse; in their initial training, Muses had been taught that secrecy was paramount. Once an artist realised that their new friend had been hired to inspire them their working relationship would be ruined. Andrew had been proof of that. In their training, however, Muses were taught that this was because of the Hawthorne Effect, where the artists would create work for the sake of passing an nonexistent test, rather than making work for themselves. Extrinsic, opposed to intrinsic, motivation.

But the past few days with Laila proved that this wasn’t always the case. Laila knew what Neil was and used this to her advantage; she asked Neil for progress updates, suggestions based on the experiences of working with other artists, and asked whether Neil’s connection to one deity meant he could put her in touch with others.

Neil briefly wondered whether Andrew would have continued to work with Neil if he had been honest from the start, whether they could have avoided the two weeks apart after Andrew found out that Neil had lied to him.

He shook himself out of that line of thought. Andrew was here now, and had followed him to San Francisco. Neil couldn’t change the past, so he had to focus on the present.

“If you’re done having your issues,” Andrew said, coming out of the bathroom in a long-sleeved t-shirt and black sweatpants. “You need to sleep.”

Neil picked his duffle bag up from where Andrew had dropped it by the front door, and pulled out his toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as a pair of light grey sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. He changed in the bathroom and brushed his teeth. The mirror had fogged up with the condensation from Andrew’s shower, so he didn’t have to face his reflection. His time as Neil Josten had acclimatised him to red hair and blue eyes, but the dusty brown hair he had now was a constant reminder of his betrayal. If Neil had told Andrew the truth from the start, he would have never had to come to San Francisco.

Andrew was sitting on the air mattress with his back to the couch, the light of his phone screen reflecting in the lenses of his round-framed glasses.

Neil dropped his clothes in his duffle bag and made his way over to the couch. Andrew didn’t look up from his phone as Neil climbed onto the couch behind him, but leaned forward so Neil could pull up the duvet over his legs when he sat down. Once Neil stopped shuffling, Andrew leaned back against the couch again. Neil couldn’t see his phone screen clearly, but he recognised the blue and grey coloured bubbles as text messages.

Andrew put his phone down a few seconds later, and set his glasses down beside it. Neil stayed where he was, sat upright with his back to the arm, as Andrew turned and laid down on his back. He looked up at Neil, and Neil watched Andrew’s neck strain with the angle. Neil leaned to the side slightly so Andrew didn’t hurt himself.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Andrew said.

Neil had been half-asleep for the entire evening, but he couldn’t imagine falling asleep now. “What if I sleep sitting upright?”

Andrew blinked at him, unimpressed, and looked away. He closed his eyes as if he were trying to will himself to sleep.

“What if I had to sleep upside down like a bat?” Neil asked.

“Then I would hang you from the roof with string tied around your toes,” Andrew said, his eyes still closed.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Neil said, not believing a word of it.

Neil shuffled downwards and pulled the borrowed duvet over his shoulder as he curled up on his side. “Goodnight, Andrew,” he whispered.

It was a while before Andrew replied. Neil heard his exhale, as if frustrated or exhausted by something, though he hadn’t seemed as annoyed by Neil’s antics than he did by Neil’s well-wishes for the night.

“Goodnight, Neil.”

* * *

**T** he following morning, Neil woke up with the morning sunlight spilling in through the gaps in Laila and Alvarez’s patterned curtains. He squinted a little before his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and then turned his head to peer over the side of the couch. It was then that he realised his arm had beaten him to it, hanging over the edge of the cushion to the mattress below. He wasn’t touching Andrew, who was still asleep on his back, but his fingers were only inches from Andrew’s own. Neil pulled his hand back before sitting up and looking to the door to Laila and Alvarez’s room. It was still shut, and they usually kept it open during the day so the light from the south-facing window lit the rest of the apartment too.

Neil was the first awake, and he would usually feed his cats and go for a run, but Sir and King were staying with Dan for the duration of Neil’s assignment and he didn’t feel like running. There was something comforting about sitting in the morning sunlight, the quiet only broken by Andrew’s light snoring.

It didn’t last long. Andrew’s phone buzzed on the wooden floor and Andrew startled awake, his hand scrabbling out from under the duvet as Andrew pushed himself backwards until his back hit the front of the couch. A second later Andrew seemed to realise where he was and what the noise had been, and his shoulders sagged for a split second before they returned to their usual place of quiet caution. Neil hadn’t realised until then that Andrew’s normal posture was one that made him seem more broad and intimidating, and he wondered if it was nature or nurture that had made it so.

Andrew rolled onto his back once more and pushed himself up with one hand to peer over the edge of the couch cushion and meet Neil’s eyes.

“Hi,” Neil said.

Andrew didn’t reply, only looked at his face for a beat longer before turning away. He pressed the home screen button of his phone to presumably check the time, and then pushed the covers off his legs. Standing up seemed to take herculean effort, and something clicked into or out of place when Andrew stood up. Neil felt immediately guilty about taking the couch, considering that he was long used to sleeping on a bare mattress if not the floor. The air mattress looked like it had lost the bulk of its stuffing throughout the night.

Neil went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee while Andrew went straight to the bathroom, and they switched once Andrew came out and the coffee was brewing. By the time Neil came out of the bathroom, Laila and Alvarez were perched on the kitchen stools in their pyjamas, with steaming mugs of tea in hand. Andrew leant against the kitchen counter with his own mug, and the three of them were talking quietly.

Neil didn’t pick up on the topic of conversation until he located a mug of coffee set on the counter to the left of Andrew’s hip. There was a band of skin between the hem of Andrew’s t-shirt and the waistband of his sweatpants, but Neil averted his gaze before Andrew caught him looking. Andrew hadn’t given him permission to look, and a flash of hip bone felt considerably more elicit than his biceps. Neil took his mug into both hands and brought it up to his face, hoping that the warmth in his cheeks could be attributed to the steam.

By Alvarez’s raised eyebrow, Neil wasn’t as subtle as he had intended.

Neil made toast for breakfast, not wanting to impose on Laila and Alvarez’s generosity. Andrew had no such qualms, and piled a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes on three plates. Laila pulled out a punnet of fresh berries from the fridge and held it out to Alvarez without looking over her shoulder, pulling out a carton of orange juice from the fridge door. Alvarez took a handful of berries and scattered them over their plate, before lining up blueberries into the shape of a heart on the top pancake of Laila’s plate. Laila turned with two glasses of orange juice in hand, and smiled warmly when she saw the addition to her breakfast. She set the glasses down and kissed Alvarez’s temple, whispering something in their ear that made Alvarez snort out a laugh.

Neil startled when Andrew snapped his fingers in front of Neil’s face, and his eyes dropped to the plate Andrew held out with one hand. A single pancake lay in the middle of it, missing any chocolate-chips or syrup. Neil took the plate with trepidation, not understanding why Andrew had made himself a separate pancake when he preferred them overloaded with sugar. He held it for him, though, expecting an explanation in one form or another.

An explanation, however, did not come.

Andrew only looked at Neil’s face and muttered, “Idiot. It’s for you.”

_Oh._

Neil looked at the pancake again, and his mental description of it changed from _missing chocolate chips or syrup_ to _plain, just as I prefer them._ “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Shut up,” Andrew said, and set his own plate down to rip his pancakes into a sticky mess before eating them piece by piece.

A small smile played on Neil’s face for the rest of the morning, though he tried to stifle it whenever Andrew looked over. He wasn’t particularly successful, he didn’t think, considering how often Andrew’s face morphed into a scowl when he saw Neil’s expression.

“Stop it,” Andrew said at one point, while they were sat on the couch watching television, and slapped his hand over Neil’s mouth.

“No,” Neil said, his petulant tone muffled though Andrew was the only one to witness it. Laila and Alvarez had gone out to film something on the far side of the city, though Neil didn’t quite understand why they hadn’t invited him along, considering that it was supposed to be his job.

Andrew’s hand tightened over Neil’s jaw. “Stop it,” he said again.

But Neil couldn’t stop the grin from breaking out. Aiming for distraction, he kissed the inside of Andrew’s palm.

The distraction worked, and Andrew’s hold loosened. Neil slowly raised his hand and wrapped it around Andrew’s wrist when Andrew didn’t protest or pull away. He didn’t move Andrew’s hand just yet, and instead kissed Andrew’s palm once more.

Andrew’s eyes were molten and fixed on Neil’s. Neil gently pulled Andrew’s hand away from his mouth, and used his other hand to curl Andrew’s fingers into a fist. Neil kissed Andrew’s knuckles, feeling the thin scars under his lips. He wanted to ask what they were from, but he didn’t want to break this moment with his voice.

Andrew didn’t have the same patience. He tugged his hand out of Neil’s grip and wrapped both hands around Neil’s jaw, bringing their faces closer together.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked, his intention clear in the way his eyes never strayed from Neil’s mouth.

“Yes,” Neil said, and immediately after the words left his lips, Andrew leaned in.

Their second kiss was as fierce as their first. Andrew kissed him like this was a fight and their lives were on the line, like his world stopped and started with Neil’s mouth. Neil didn’t know what he was doing, but he tried to mimic Andrew’s movements. He caught Andrew’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Andrew’s fingers tightened in his hair. Andrew pushed Neil down onto the couch and hovered above him, holding his weight up with one hand while the other still held Neil’s jaw.

“Still yes?” Andrew asked, as if Neil could say anything but yes to the idea of Andrew above him, shielding him from the rest of the world.

His lips were sore and his skin was buzzing, but Neil whispered, “Yes,” and caught Andrew’s face between his hands and pulled him down.

It didn’t—couldn’t—last long, because Laila and Alvarez weren’t going to be much longer, but Neil’s mouth was numb and his thoughts buzzed to incoherency by the time they heard keys rattling in the front door’s lock. Neil fought back a flash of irritation as Andrew pushed himself up and away from Neil. Neil tried to call Laila and Alvarez to wait, but he didn’t have the breath to speak and his attention had snagged on the fluffiness of Andrew’s hair from Neil’s fingers, and the pink tint to his cheeks. He didn’t think he had seen Andrew look so _soft_ before, but it didn’t make him feel any less protected.

Laila and Alvarez walked in with reusable bags of groceries, chatting a mile a minute. Laila stopped when she caught sight of Neil and Andrew, and Alvarez bumped into her back and looked over Laila’s shoulder. Likely picking up on what they had interrupted, Alvarez steered Laila into the kitchen to unpack their groceries. After they left the living room area, Neil looked over to Andrew, who was checking something on his phone again.

“We’re leaving. Get dressed,” Andrew said, though he claimed the bathroom first.

Neil grabbed his duffle bag over and pulled out his only clean pair of jeans and a bright green t-shirt with a skateboarding blue frog on it. Neil slipped in the bathroom after Andrew, but when he came out Andrew took one look at the t-shirt and shook his head once.

“No.”

“I don’t have anything else,” Neil said. His entire bag was full of clothes that had been picked out for ‘Tristan’.

Andrew’s eyes narrowed, but he dragged over his bag and rummaged around for a couple seconds before pulling out a black turtleneck sweater and threw it at Neil. He only waited long enough for Neil to change in the bathroom again before heading to the front door, car keys in hand.

Neil followed him downstairs to where Andrew had parked the rental car, and they pulled out once Neil’s seat belt was fastened. It was cold, and even though Andrew had put the heating on full blast, Neil pulled the neck of Andrew’s sweater over his face. Andrew told him that he looked ridiculous, but Neil was too comforted by the smell of Andrew’s cologne in the thick weave of the material to care.

Neil didn’t recognise their destination until they pulled up at the short-stay car park of San Francisco’s airport. He turned his head but Andrew wasn’t looking at him. “What are we doing here?”

Andrew hummed, but otherwise didn’t reply. He climbed out, and waited for Neil to join him before locking the car. Neil let Andrew weave through the crowds ahead of him until they reached the arrivals lounge, and they bagged two seats next to each other to wait. Though who they were waiting for, Neil didn’t know.

He didn’t find out until he’d finished the cup of coffee Andrew bought him. A head of white and pastel hair followed the flow of people through the arrivals gate, and smiled brightly when she saw them.

She greeted Andrew first, thanking him for inviting her, and then smiled at Neil. “Hello, Neil. It’s lovely to see you again.”

Neil nodded. “You too,” he said, though he was more surprised than glad to see her.

“Liar,” Andrew said, and then picked up Renee’s bag and pulled the strap over his shoulder. Neil’s attention caught on the way the sleeves of his black t-shirt tightened around Andrew’s bicep, but he soon realised that Renee was watching him. Neil met her gaze with a blank expression, and after a second of eye contact Renee looked away with a slight smile playing at her lips.

Neil didn’t offer to carry her second bag, and took off after Andrew with Renee following behind.

Neil was surprised when Renee climbed into the backseat, and more surprised by Andrew’s apparent anticipation of this. Neil had assumed the two would want to catch up, and he had been content to listen rather than contribute to any conversation.

The journey back to Laila and Alvarez’s apartment was quiet but for Renee asking how Andrew enjoyed San Francisco, and Andrew asking if Kevin was still alive. Laila and Alvarez fawned over Renee when the three of them walked in, complimenting her hair and outfit. Renee seemed a little startled at the attention, but thanked them and complemented their apartment. Neil tuned out the rest of their conversation and introductions, and followed Andrew to the kitchen. He had taken a tub of ice-cream from the freezer, and sat atop one of the counters to eat it straight from the tub.

“You invited Renee,” Neil said.

Andrew swallowed a mouthful. “Astute observation, Neil.”

“Why?”

“Generally speaking, if you want a person to be at a certain place at a certain time, you have to ask them first.”

Neil wanted to bang his head against a wall. “Why do you want Renee here?”

Andrew looked down to his ice-cream as he carved up another scoop with his spoon. When he looked up again his gaze wasn’t at Neil, but Renee, who hovered in the doorway. “Renee,” he said. “We were just talking about you.”

Renee looked between him and Neil. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Neil wanted to know why Andrew had invited her, but he wouldn’t ask with an audience. He shook his head.

Renee smiled and turned to Andrew. “May I borrow your car?”

Andrew pulled the car keys from his pocket and threw them at Renee. She caught them with one hand, thanked him, and left the apartment after letting Laila and Alvarez know where she was going. 

Andrew shovelled another spoonful of ice-cream into his mouth and hopped down from the counter.

Neil followed him into the living room, and Laila and Alvarez looked up at their entrance from where they were curled up on the couch. Neil wondered if it would have been more polite to fold up the bedding and leave it somewhere, but they seemed content to sit atop the duvet. Alvarez had propped one of the pillows behind their neck while Laila was using Alvarez’s lap as a pillow for herself.

At some point someone turned on the television, and Neil found himself on the couch next to Alvarez, with Andrew sat on the floor between his legs. Neil doubted that Alvarez or Laila could see, since Neil himself couldn’t, but Andrew had wrapped his hand around Neil’s bare ankle and seemed content to keep it there. Neil couldn’t focus on whatever they were watching, even if he wanted to, but he made no move to request they did something else.

Renee returned almost an hour later, but she wasn’t alone.

Dan, Matt, and Allison walked through the front door, along with enough luggage to clothe themselves for two weeks. Most of the luggage were from a matching set, so Neil mentally categorised those as Allison’s.

“Neil!” Matt called, striding over to the side of the couch and leaning over to scoop Neil into a one-armed hug. Neil was too surprised to see him to move out of the way, though the familiar smell of shea butter loosened something in his chest.

He’d missed Matt. He’d missed all of the Muses. He was smiling when Matt let him go, and Dan circled around Matt to drape her arm over Neil’s shoulders from behind.

“So we hear that you’ve swept up enough trouble for a decade,” she said, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Is this everyone for the rescue party?”

“Rescue party?” Neil echoed.

Dan made an _uh-huh_ noise, but it was Allison who answered. “We’re breaking you out. Get ready to be unemployed.”

Neil opened his mouth and closed it again, but he didn’t find the words until he caught Andrew’s eye. “You invited them.”

“A second astute observation of the day,” Andrew said with a bored expression. “Should I be expecting any more? The day of the week, perhaps?”

This time, however, Neil didn’t have to try and pry answers from Andrew. Matt provided an explanation without being asked. “Andrew told us that you wanted out of your contract with the Moriyamas,” he said. “So we’re here to help.”

Neil’s gaze didn’t budge from Andrew. The past couple days Andrew had been on his phone more than Neil had seen over the past few months, and now Neil understood that he had been trying to organise… this.

Someone cleared their throat, and Neil turned to see Dan looking between them with a considering expression. She gestured to her phone. “Take out?”

“Chinese,” Allison said, at the same time as Matt suggested pizza and Alvarez called for sushi.

Dan rolled her eyes. “A little bit of everything, then.”

It took a while to form a list, but eventually Dan managed to call up _Mama Sara’s_ and order five large pizzas, six trays of sushi, and four noodle dishes to share between the eight of them. Matt went to answer the door and returned to the blanket pile the Muses had created with a tower of takeaway boxes.

While Renee and Allison set out bowls, plates, and cutlery, and Matt, Laila, and Alvarez made drinks in the kitchen, Dan pulled out a series of bound white documents.

“Okay,” she started when everyone returned to their positions on the floor. “These are all photocopies so it’s fine if they get sticky. I have three packs of highlighters and pens.” She pulled the cap off a neon orange highlighter and balanced it behind her ear. “We’re looking for material breach, evidence of fraudulence; anything that proves Neil doesn’t have to hold his end of the deal.”

She looked at Neil face-on, but she directed everyone when she said, “Let’s find a loophole.”

* * *

**T** hey worked until the early hours of the next morning before the Muses started drifting off to sleep. The living room wasn’t meant to sleep nine bodies, but they made a workable nest out of it all the same. Laila and Alvarez had dragged their mattress and bedding in from their bedroom. Renee and Allison took the couch, and Dan and Matt curled up in their double sleeping bag on the air mattress.

Neil and Andrew were the last ones awake, sat upright in the dead centre of the room with Matt on Neil’s other side. Andrew was wearing his glasses again, though he had only slipped them on once everyone but Renee had fallen asleep. Accidental swatches of orange ink coated Neil’s fingertips, and he knew that he should be focusing on his contract but with his friends this close and Andrew putting all his energy into helping him, he couldn’t worry about anything. Neil laid down on his side on the makeshift mattress of cushions, and pillowed his head on his arms so he could study Andrew’s face.

“It’s late,” Neil whispered.

Andrew didn’t answer immediately. “There’s six pages left.”

Neil didn’t think they would find anything in the last six pages, either. He wanted to spend as much time with Andrew as he could, but he would rather sleep beside him than worry over a contract that wouldn’t prove any use. “They will still be there in the morning,” he said.

Andrew finally stopped reading, and looked down at Neil. He stayed quiet for a moment longer, before folding the corner of the page down and setting it down on the floor, his glasses following shortly after. Neil held still while Andrew shuffled down to lie beside him, but once Andrew settled he reached out and placed his hand centimetres away from Andrew’s. Andrew linked their pinkies together, and Neil studied his face until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

He dreamed of facing Ichirou Moriyama on an Exy court, with Andrew at his back and an orange racquet in his hand. In his dream the Muses won.

* * *

**A** ndrew woke before Neil, and he allowed himself a few minutes of studying Neil’s face like this could be the last time he would see him.

It wouldn’t be; even if he didn’t break Neil out of his contract, they still had until the Moriyamas tried to drag Neil away. They wouldn’t succeed. Andrew would fight them with his bare hands in order to keep Neil safe. He wouldn’t let them take Neil from him.

Still, he held tight to every memory—as if he ever had the option to let them go—as the Muses analysed Neil’s contract over the next three days, barely moving from the living room. They discussed whether the contract could be voided due to Neil’s mental state when he had signed the employment contract—Neil had just watched his mother die in front of him, after all—or whether the Moriyamas had breached the contract first. But no-one could think of a time when the Moriyamas hadn’t protected Neil like they promised they would.

Andrew had found out who Neil’s father was: Nathan Wesninski. Neil had told him months ago that his first name had been Nathaniel, named after his father, but he hadn’t quite expected Neil’s father to be _the Butcher of Baltimore._ He was clearly still a fixture of Neil’s nightmares, as Andrew had found out after waking at two in the morning from Neil’s unconscious shaking. Andrew had wordlessly got up and grabbed their coats, leading them up to the roof and shaking out two cigarettes. It was half an hour before Neil had calmed down enough to want to go back downstairs, but Neil had managed to get another couple hours sleep. Andrew had not. He’d stayed awake, back pressed to the front of the couch and facing the door, choosing to keep Neil protected and safe instead of submitting to sleep himself.

Andrew didn’t like how the Moriyamas had made a mockery of promises of protection. Neil’s father had been arrested because of the evidence orchestrated by the Moriyamas, and he had been killed in a prison fight by someone working for the Moriyamas, but Andrew knew that they hadn’t done so in Neil’s best interests. They had done so to keep Neil under lock and key, keep him at _Moriyama Muses_ indefinitely.

In exchange for protection, Andrew had let Kevin promise him something to live for when he came off his drugs, but Andrew had always doubted that Kevin would uphold his end of the bargain. He hadn’t really cared, either. Protection was something he was good at, wanted to offer, and what he asked for in return was just so there _was_ something in return. He didn’t want Kevin or Aaron to feel like they owed Andrew anything, but he didn’t really care whether or not Kevin managed to make Andrew love stickball, or whether Aaron stayed by Andrew’s side.

It was the _promises_ that he cared about. Aaron could have promised to buy him ice-cream every day for all Andrew cared, but it was the fact that Aaron had agreed to Andrew’s deal and dismissed it as soon as a pretty girl walked by.

Andrew wondered, then, why he was okay with helping Neil break his promise. Was it because the deal was unfair? Aaron seemed to think his deal had been unfair, but Andrew had been so _angry_ when Aaron tried to walk away. Was it because Neil didn’t need the Moriyamas’ protection anymore? Kevin didn’t need Andrew’s protection anymore, but after graduating he had been strangely supportive of Andrew’s decision to take up art.

_If it makes you happy,_ Kevin had said, the day of Andrew’s graduation. He had flown in from New York for the weekend to watch a ceremony Andrew didn’t bother to attend, and dragged Andrew along Nicky’s ‘last farewells’ around Palmetto and Columbia.

_It doesn’t,_ Andrew had told him.

_But you don’t hate it._

_I don’t hate it._

_Then that’s enough. Though the team’s still looking for another goal—_ Andrew had pointed his ashing cigarette in Kevin’s face as a threat, and shoved him aside on his way back to the dorms. Kevin hadn’t been perturbed, following behind like he had for three years.

Watching Neil now, the way he watched the other Muses yelling over potential clauses to exploit like they didn’t hold his very future in their hands, Andrew thought he understood why he was determined to break Neil’s promise.

Andrew wanted to protect him.

Without exchange, without his own binding contract, Andrew wanted Neil to be safe, happy, _loved._ Andrew saw the way the Muses watched over Neil, one of their own, and a little nagging part of Andrew wanted to be part of that, too. He wanted to be at Neil’s side, if Neil let him.

Neil looked over then, and his lips twitched into the small smile Andrew had only ever seen directed at him. He would still ask, but in that moment he already knew Neil’s answer.

_Yes._

Andrew looked away before he did something stupid. He tuned back into the Muses’ conversation, debating whether or not Neil could just write a letter to Ichirou, giving him his notice of resignation, and then hiding in San Francisco for a week before fleeing to another city, potentially another country. Neil could, in theory, just stop showing up at work and ignore all calls from a _Moriyama Muses’_ number, but the consequences could range from paying a fine to cover finding his replacement, to facing the wrath of one of the most powerful gods in recent history. Neil was the only one idiotic enough to risk it, and they vetoed his choice in the matter.

The best course of action, Dan deducted after calling other representatives of the Muses’ trade union, would be to take the case to _The Justice Court._ Andrew agreed. Deities rarely followed orders, and certainly not from humans, but a Titan like Themis was not someone to refuse.

While Dan had been on the phone for the better part of an hour, a constant stream of applicant claims, case numbers, and representative names that Andrew hadn’t paid attention to in favour of listening to the stupidity spewing from Neil’s mouth. Neil claimed that if the Muses hadn’t found anything in three days, it was unlikely that they would find anything at _The Justice Court,_ either. Ichirou was centuries old, and with that brought years of experience of control that they couldn’t begin to imagine. Even if Dike or Eunomia found something of use, the other would find something to counter.

Matt ignored him, and Andrew was surprised by it. The overgrown puppy of a man usually listened to Neil like a father was supposed to listen to their child’s first words.

“How soon can we get a hearing?” Matt asked Dan.

“Tomorrow, I hope,” Dan said, mobile phone still in hand. “The next one after that is in a month.”

“A month?” Matt repeated. “We don’t have a month. What if Ichirou finds out what we’re doing.”

They fell into uncomfortable silence, though a beat later Renee somehow made a dire _what-if_ sound almost kind.

“What would happen if the Moriyamas did find out what we’re planning?”

“Ichirou will get rid of me,” Neil answered. “I am a loose end. I am a seven year investment and if we can’t get _The Justice Court_ to make sure that Ichirou can’t kill me, he will. My contract with the Moriyamas was protection in exchange for a lifetime of employment. They can’t afford Muses leaving and considering other options as soon as Ichirou holds up his end of the bargain.”

Andrew reached out to tug on the hem of Neil’s t-shirt. It was that monstrosity of a shirt, lime green with a skateboarding frog. Andrew had run out of clothes to lend him, and until his laundry dried Neil had had to revert back to his own duffle bag of questionable fashion.

Neil turned around to face Andrew, and noticed the fury in Andrew’s eyes.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Andrew said, voice quiet but unyielding in his promise. “If they try to take you away they will lose.”

“They’re not going to win, Neil,” Dan added, fierce and determined. The other Muses nodded along in their certainty that this would end the way they wanted it to. “We’re going to get you out.”

Andrew didn’t know what to do with the look of _nothingness_ in Neil’s expression, his astonished awe at the Muses’ determination to keep Neil safe. It was the same look Neil gave him at times, that made Andrew turn his face away.

“Thank you,” Neil said, in quiet reverence.

Allison waved off his gratitude with well-practiced airiness, but when she opened her mouth Renee elbowed her in the side in a very un-Renee-like manner. Allison shot her a scowl, but stayed quiet in favour of letting Renee run her fingers through her hair. Andrew gave Renee a small nod in gratitude.

He regarded Dan with an assessing look. “Get the hearing tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll want to tug at Eirene’s heartstrings, not give Dike or Eunomia enough time to come up with a well-thought out counter argument.”

This time, Renee’s quiet scolding couldn’t quite tamper Allison’s derisive tone. “You say ‘you want’ as if you hadn’t personally asked us here to help. Accept it, you care about Neil just as much as we do.”

Andrew was slow to look at her, not letting her think for a second that she was worth the effort of moving any faster. He was the epitome of control, and his tone was cool when he deigned to respond. “You’ve known him for seven years,” he said. “Did it not occur to you that his contract is complete bullshit?”

Dan and Allison wore matching scowls, but Matt and Renee both managed to stop them before they started laying into Andrew. Andrew didn’t care, but he still noticed the cold look Neil gave Allison and Dan for attempting to break out infighting they didn’t have time for.

Matt lifted Dan’s wrist to hover the phone in her hand in front of her face. Dan deflated, started typing something. A few seconds later, she was waiting to get through to some administration department of _The Justice Court._ She had put the call on speaker, Andrew realised, because they all heard it when the call connected.

“Hello,” an automated voice greeted. “You have reached _The Justice Court_ switchboard. If you are calling to arrange a hearing, say ‘one’. If you are calling regarding an existing hearing—”

“One,” Dan cut in.

There was a beat. “If you have a case number already, say ‘one’. If you are not yet represented, say ‘two’. If—”

“One,” Dan said again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. If you have a case number already, say ‘one’. If you are not—”

_“One.”_

“Please state the case number.”

Dan’s voice was clear, and she paused between each number. “FX10M0313.”

“Thank you. You will be transferred to one of our operatives. Please wait.”

Tinny classical music filtered through Dan’s phone speaker, and the Muses waited in anticipation, the only noise being the occasional shuffle or hushed whisper. Eventually their call connected again, and the Muses sat rigid in silence once more.

“Hello, this is _The Justice Court Contact Centre._ How can I help?”

“Hi, this is Dan Wilds,” Dan said. “I’m a representative for the _Moriyama Muses’_ trade union. I called earlier regarding another employee’s contract.”

“Ah, yes,” the operative said. “It was me you talked to. Did you decide on a date?”

Dan looked at Neil and waited for his nod before confirming with the operative. “Tomorrow, if it’s still available.”

“I’ll book you in and send a court summons to _Moriyama Muses.”_ There was a four-second wait before, “When you arrive tomorrow, you need to bring your hearing letter—I will send this to the email address you provided earlier—and any documents relating to Mr. Josten’s contract. You need to arrive by 09:00am as that’s the time tomorrow’s cases begin. Your case might not be first so be prepared to wait and make arrangements for childcare or taking time off work. Will you need any additional support such as hearing loops, easy read format, or accessibility ramps?”

Andrew tuned out the rest of the conversation, letting the Muses relay any information that was actually relevant. He picked up a photocopy of Neil’s contract and started flipping through the notes the Muses had made in a mashup of different handwriting styles. Allison’s points were found in cursive handwriting, and Andrew recognised them as the same style as the notes he and Neil had ‘found’ in King’s scavenger hunt. Andrew wasn’t sure whether Allison had made the clues, or whether Neil had written them and copied her style of writing. He supposed he still had time to ask, but it could wait until Neil was free.

He felt Neil’s gaze on the side of his face.

“Staring,” he said, without looking up.

“Yeah,” Neil agreed, but he didn’t look away until Andrew reached out and pushed his face away with two fingers to his cheek. They both ignored the strange looks the Muses were giving them.

Andrew looked at Neil’s face, noting the bags under his eyes and the lost expression he wore as he tried to focus back on the plans for his hearing tomorrow.

“You should sleep,” Andrew said.

Neil turned back to him. “You should too.”

Andrew hummed and looked back to the Muses. He wondered whether he could rely on them, but he supposed he had already made the decision to trust them when he invited them to San Francisco.

“They will explain everything in the morning,” Andrew said, and dropped the contract back onto the floor.

Matt must have been eavesdropping, but he dropped all pretenses and leaned over into Neil’s space to join their conversation. “This is her job, Neil,” he said, referring to Dan’s position in the Muses’ union. “Let her handle this. You need to sleep. You both do. You look exhausted.”

“And Eirene’s a sucker for a pretty face,” Neil said sarcastically, gesturing to the scars that adorned his face.

“Shut up,” Andrew said, but Neil only looked confused, like he couldn’t recognise his own beauty. Andrew reached forward and tugged on Neil’s hair. “Stop it,” he said, but he kept his fingers in Neil’s hair and Neil leaned into the touch.

Matt finally left them alone to go back to the Muses’ discussion, and Andrew reluctantly pulled his hand back to himself. Neil looked like he missed the touch as much as Andrew did. Andrew led them back to the pile of blankets and cushions, and claimed Laila and Alvarez’s mattress as it was clearly the comfiest place to sleep.

“Where do you want me?” Neil asked, as if Andrew’s decision to take only one side of the mattress wasn’t invitation enough. For anyone else, it wasn’t.

But for Neil… Andrew reached up for Neil’s hand and tugged him downwards. Neil tripped over the edge of the mattress and fell ungracefully beside him, propping himself upright on his elbows.

“That wasn’t a yes,” Neil said.

“It’s a yes,” Andrew said, and shoved Neil’s head down onto the pillow. “Go to sleep.”

Neil smiled and closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up with him as he let Andrew watch his back. Andrew wanted to reach out and trace the constellations of freckles across Neil’s face, but he settled for placing his hand an inch away from Neil’s. Neil’s eyes opened, not asleep as Andrew had presumed, and looked down at Andrew’s hand.

Neil’s hand slipped out from under Laila and Alvarez’s printed comforter, and slowly reached for Andrew’s. He stopped, barely a breath from touching skin, and Andrew closed the distance, tangling their fingers together and tucked their hands back under the comforter, hiding them away from prying eyes.

Neil’s eyes closed once more, a small smile playing on his lips. Andrew was too tired to stare at him for much longer, and he let the sight of Neil’s calm, trusting, _content_ face be the last thing he saw before he succumbed to sleep.


	9. THE LOOPHOLE

_**T** he Justice Court_ was an ornate building, with marble walls and a row of columns lining the entrance that shone brightly in the morning sunlight.

The Muses entered the building with Dan taking the lead, and were directed to security. Neil had watched Andrew take out his knives from his armbands earlier that morning, leaving them wrapped in a t-shirt in the glove compartment of the rental car. There was a slight queue, but eventually they all passed through the metal detector without setting off an alarm. They were directed to turn their phones on silent, but Neil’s had run out of battery the day before and he hadn’t bothered charging it since Andrew and the Muses had been with him the entire time. He left it in his pocket and stared down the security officer who told him to turn it off.

They had to wait an hour before they were called in, and the Muses passed the time in quiet conversation in an attempt to break the tension slowly building with every passing minute.

The courtroom was as ostentatious as the building it was housed in. Polished wooden benches filled the majority of the space as the public gallery, but there were raised platforms with ornate but empty chairs for the deities of justice and divine order. They were directed to their seats: Neil at the table of the prosecution, and the Muses taking their seats as witnesses and character references. Andrew and Renee sat further back in the public gallery.

The courtroom doors opened again and Neil watched Ichirou Moriyama walk in with the confident air of someone who knew they would win. Neil’s heartbeat quickened but he couldn’t afford to look afraid. He locked a calm expression on his face and watched ruination walk down the gangway to the opposing table.

They weren’t allowed to interact directly, but there was no rule stopping Ichirou from staring Neil down with a quietly threatening expression. Fathomless black eyes bore into Neil’s, and Neil had to look away. He stared straight ahead at the empty seats saved for Themis, Eunomia, Dike, and Eirene, but it wasn’t a safe place to look for much longer; a side door opened, and Themis walked in.

“All rise,” the usher called out. Neil, along with the rest of the room, rose from their chairs.

Themis wore a black suit and tie with a crisp white shirt. The cloak of black damask fastened at her shoulders swished behind her dramatically as she found her seat and sat down. Everyone else followed suit, and the three Horae walked in soon after. Eirene closed the side-door behind them, and the three sisters walked onto the dais below Themis, Dike and Eunomia standing on either side of Eirene.

The court clerk rose from his chair on the right hand side of the dais, and started the trial by reading out the charge. When silence settled, the clerk turned to Eirene. “Could Lady Eirene please step forward?”

Eirene did so with a smile that eerily reminded Neil of Renee.

“Could you repeat after me,” the clerk said. “‘By the Court of Justice I solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that I will faithfully try the defendant and give a true verdict according to the evidence.’”

Eirene did so in a well-practiced manner.

There was a short pause before Themis addressed her court. “Ichirou Moriyama has pleaded not guilty to this indictment charging him of one offence of fraud by false representation.” She then addressed Eirene. “You have been deemed to have sworn in on the court of Justice to decide if the evidence you are going to hear proves the defendant guilty or not. You have affirmed that you will faithfully try the defendant and will return the true verdict according to the evidence. You may be seated.”

Eirene took her place on the single chair, and Dike and Eunomia took their places beside Neil and Ichirou.

Dike was a tall and slender woman, with ink-black skin, pale grey eyes, and hair tied back in a complicated twist of tight braids that Dan would no doubt be trying to replicate the next time she had a hair appointment.

Themis waited for silence once more before gesturing to Dike. “That brings us to the prosecution opening.”

Dike rose once more. “Thank you, my lady,” she said, and then turned around to address the court. “My name is Dike, goddess of justice and moral order, and I appear on behalf of Nathaniel Wesninski. My learnèd sister, Eunomia, goddess of law and legislation, appears for the defence. The defendant, Ichirou Moriyama, is charged with fraud by false representation. He unjustly employed sixteen year old Nathaniel Wesninski, who had just witnessed the death of his mother, his sole care-giver since he was ten years old.

“In exchange for protection from his father, Nathan Wesninski, a convicted murderer,” Dike continued, “Nathaniel was to become a Muse at _Moriyama Muses_ indefinitely. He was told that it would not be a permanent role, and yet he has been employed there for seven years, completing nearly three times as many assignments as his colleagues, and he has not yet been given an end date for his contract.”

Ichirou’s expression was calm. It didn’t shift as Dike outlined Neil’s case, explaining each offence and the evidence she would present to prove that Ichirou was guilty.

“My sister, Eunomia,” Dike said, “will tell you that Nathaniel Wesninski signed his contract knowing what it entailed, but I will remind you that he was only a child when he signed that contract, and he had just witnessed most people’s worst fear: losing a parent. I think it’s safe to say that holding someone to an agreement that they made out of pure desperation, on the worst day of their life, is immoral.” She turned to Eirene. “My sister, I will present to you the evidence that proves that Ichirou Moriyama’s contract with Nathaniel Wesninski was unconscionable.”

Dike paused for a moment, to let it sink in, before turning to Themis. “If it pleases you, my lady, I would like to call Nathaniel Wesninski to the stand.”

Neil rose from his chair, and followed the court usher to the witness stand. He held still while the usher fastened _Fragarach,_ the collar forged centuries ago from the molten gold of the sword, around his neck, just above the tight fit of his shirt collar. He was sworn in, promising to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The words were automatic, but Neil wondered if this was how he should have started his confession to Andrew three weeks ago.

Dike faced Neil as she asked, “What is your name?”

“Neil Josten,” Neil said. “Formerly Nathaniel Wesninski.”

Themis turned to the clerk. “From this point onwards, Nathaniel Wesninski will be referred to as Neil Josten.” She then gestured at Dike to continue.

“And what is your current occupation?”

“I am a Muse at _Moriyama Muses._ I am hired to inspire artists going through creative blocks.” As Dan had advised, Neil looked at Eirene instead of Dike as he answered the questions. He didn’t remember her exact reason—Andrew had been sitting on the windowsill at the time and Neil’s attention had been caught by the way the sunlight was making his ash blond hair appear gold—but he knew it was something about building trust and sympathy with Eirene.

“How long have you been employed at _Moriyama Muses?”_

“Seven years.”

“Could you describe, in your own words, the day you signed your employment contract with Ichirou Moriyama.”

Neil took a deep breath, and forced himself to look Eirene in the eye rather than stare off into the distance like he wanted to. He swallowed the nausea and buried it deep.

“It was seven years ago, at the end of April,” Neil started. “My mother, Mary Wesninski, and I had just left Seattle after a run in with my father, where she suffered a ruptured kidney and liver, and bled out on the road to the California border. She died in the passenger seat while I was driving. I tried to take her body out of the car, but I couldn’t stand the sound of her dried blood ripping off the vinyl seats. It sounded like velcro.”

The details he was revealing churned his stomach, and he wished he could look at Andrew for anchor, but he pushed on. Dan had told him to tell as much of the truth as he could bare to garner sympathy with Eirene.

“I burned the car instead, and buried her bones in the sand of a beach in California. I don’t remember which one. I made it back to the highway but I only lasted another day before I collapsed on the roadside and puked my guts up. I was dehydrated, exhausted, and grieving, and I planned on calling the one number my mother made me memorise: my uncle Stuart. I got as far as the phone box before I realised that transferring from one powerful family to another wasn’t going to make my life any better: I needed a change. I saw an advertisement stuck to the inside of the phone box, a call-out for people wanting a new life, a new direction. The advertisement was for _Moriyama Muses._

“I called, without really thinking what I was doing,” Neil continued, “and they offered me an interview the following day.”

“Do you know who it was on the phone that you spoke to?” Dike asked.

“Yes,” Neil said. “It was Ichirou Moriyama.”

Dike asked Neil to recall his interview, and Neil did. The day before, Dan had run through practice questions of what she thought would come up. This had been one of them. Neil told Dike about how Ichirou had asked Neil about his family, and how Neil had told Ichirou about his years on the run with his mother. He hadn’t realised it at the time, but in his second year with the Muses he had found out that there was a reason for Neil’s unfiltered honesty. Ichirou Moriyama had a small piece of _Fragarach_ too, reduced down to the stitching of the white leather chairs in Ichirou’s office at _Moriyama Muses._

Dike focused on one of the things Neil had said. “Did you discuss the terms of your employment before a contract was written?”

“Yes,” Neil said.

“And what were these terms?”

“In exchange for becoming a Muse, Ichirou promised to protect me from my father. Until I paid my debt to the Moriyamas, I would not receive a wage.”

“So they didn’t provide you with the resources to survive?”

It was a planted question where Neil could answer in a way that both made him seem like a more honest and reliable witness, as well as to shut down an argument Neil was sure the defence would try to make. “The headquarters at _Moriyama Muses_ has a twenty-four hour canteen where all the food and water is free. They provide all Muses with an apartment, and a sum of money to support ourselves when we are away on an assignment. While we are working, we have our needs catered for.”

Neil didn’t think he needed to clarify what it meant for when they were _not_ working, but Dike asked him to anyway.

“I don’t know what happens when a Muse quit,” Neil answered. “No one has ever left before.”

_“Moriyama Muses_ was established over two hundred years ago. Surely the first Muses are not still taking assignments and inspiring artists an eighth their age?”

“No,” Neil said. “But those that stop coming to work when they hit eighty are never heard from again.”

“No further questions, my lady,” Dike said to Themis, and sat down.

Themis turned to Eunomia. “Would you like to question Neil Josten?”

Eunomia rose from her seat beside Ichirou, her pale grey robe hanging off her shoulders like a waterfall of silk. “Thank you, my lady,” she said, and turned her dark eyes onto Neil.

Eunomia’s skin was pale where Dike’s was dark, and her afro hair, braided in the same style of tight braids, was blonde. Looking between them now, Neil could see that Eirene stood between the two extremes, with warm brown skin, and darker brown hair in a mass of corkscrew coils. They were all objectively beautiful, in the way most deities were.

“Mr. Josten,” Eunomia started. “You said that you have been a Muse at _Moriyama Muses_ for seven years, yes?”

“Yes,” Neil said.

“And how many of those years have you been friends with Danielle Wilds?”

Neil frowned, but Dike spoke up before Neil could answer. “Objection, my lady. Relevance.”

“Objection overruled,” Themis said, and then gestured at Neil to answer the question.

“Seven,” Neil said. “We were friends within a few months.”

“And are you aware of her position in the Muses’ Trade Union?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware that one of the interests of a trade union is to protect and advance the interests of members in the workplace?”

“Yes.”

“Did she ever inform you that as a representative for the trade union, she was capable of assisting you in negotiating agreements with your employer, Ichirou Moriyama, on pay, working conditions, and employment contracts?”

Neil could see where she was going, and that it would hurt his case, but he knew he had to tell the truth. Lies could be easily picked apart under this level of scrutiny, damaging his credibility and tainting everything else he had said.

The word burned on his tongue. “Yes.”

“Prior to this trial, have you ever asked Danielle Wilds for assistance with your employment contract with Ichirou Moriyama before?”

Neil grit his teeth, but he kept his voice even. “No.”

“No more questions, my lady,” Eunomia said to Themis, and then sat down.

Themis nodded, and offered Dike the chance to re-examine Neil’s testimony. Dike agreed, and stepped toward Neil.

“Why didn’t you ask Danielle Wilds for assistance with your employment contract with Ichirou Moriyama?”

“I thought I would be able to handle it on my own,” Neil said. “I thought I could leave by completing enough assignments, but I was never told how many assignments that would be.”

“Can you recall the first time you wanted to leave _Moriyama Muses?”_

“The first time I thought about it was four years ago. I was on an assignment in Dallas. I had just taken my assigned artist to a circus, where I was surrounded by people who had all left their pasts for something better. They were completely free, and I wanted that for myself. I had spent six years of my life running away from my father, but being a Muse suddenly didn’t feel that different. I wasn’t in danger, but I was still running from assignment to assignment. I didn’t feel like I had a home.

I had worked for Ichirou Moriyama for over seven years, and I was never told when I would be allowed to leave. I didn’t plan on doing anything about it until this year, because I had finally found something I wanted to stay for.”

Neil didn’t mention Andrew’s name, but he still felt Andrew’s gaze on the side of his face. He had to keep looking at Eirene, at her peaceful, sympathetic expression when all he wanted to do was turn and see the grounding fire in Andrew’s eyes.

“No further questions, my lady,” Dike said. “You may now release the witness from the stand.”

Themis nodded, and the court usher unfastened _Fragarach_ from Neil’s throat and led Neil back to his seat. Neil’s eyes immediately found Andrew’s. Andrew’s gaze wasn’t only grounding; it set Neil alight. He was glad that he had no more questions, because he wasn’t sure that he could ever look away from Andrew again.

Except he had to. He took his seat next to Dike once more and faced forward. He felt cold and detached, but imagined the weight of Andrew’s stare steadying him from behind.

Dike proceeded to call more witnesses to the stand, including the Muses, questioning them for character references and their own contracts with _Moriyama Muses._ Her case stood on the grounds that Neil’s contract with Ichirou was grossly unfair. She argued that Ichirou was never entitled to bring about any change he wished, and yet he had tailored Neil’s contract to give himself paramount power over Neil, allowing him to keep Neil’s labour indefinitely.

Eunomia argued that Neil carried on working without objection; he had never taken action and therefore his behaviour could be regarded as acceptance of these terms. Eunomia pointed out that Ichirou, in partnership with the Muses’ Trade Union, provided all employees with a good standard of living, of higher value than the national minimum wage. Neil could easily imagine Dan’s rage at that, her mental protest of how appallingly low the minimum wage was, but thankfully she didn’t object aloud. She didn’t need to. Dike also pointed this out, stating that providing food, water, and shelter didn’t repudiate the fact that Neil’s contract effectively held him hostage. Ichirou had promised to protect Neil from his father, which meant that Ichirou had the perfect opportunity to extort Neil if he ever tried to quit. Neil felt that he couldn’t leave _Moriyama Muses_ in fear of Ichirou turning his promise on its head, leading Nathan directly to Neil and letting Nathan pay out the punishment.

“Do you intend to call any further witnesses?” Themis asked Dike.

“No, my lady. That is the case for the prosecution.”

Themis nodded, and turned to Eunomia. “The case for the defence, please.”

Eunomia rose from her chair. “If it pleases you, my lady, I would like to call my first witness, Ichirou Moriyama.”

Neil made the mistake of making eye contact with Ichirou as he followed the usher to the witness stand. While the usher fastened _Fragarach_ around his throat, Ichirou’s expression was still calm, still confident, but it had that glint of surety that made Neil’s stomach churn. Ichirou knew exactly how this would play out, and not only would Neil _not_ be free of his contract, but his life would become a _lot_ worse than it ever had been before.

Neil swallowed, and forced his eyes to Eunomia instead.

“Could you state your full name?” Eunomia asked Ichirou.

“Ichirou Moriyama.”

“What is your current occupation?”

“I run _Moriyama Muses.”_

“What is your relationship with Neil Josten?”

“He is my employee.”

“And how often do you see Neil Josten?”

Ichirou didn’t move, and his expression didn’t change, but something about his aura now radiated surety. “That would depend on whether he is on an assignment, or based at _Moriyama Muses’_ headquarters.”

“Let’s say while he is based at headquarters,” Eunomia said, smiling a little, as if charmed by Ichirou’s credibility. Neil knew that she was trying to convince Eirene to also find Ichirou pleasant and honest. Neil couldn’t read more from Eirene’s serene smile, but he hoped she could see through Eunomia’s manipulation.

“I see him once a month at our one-to-one feedback meetings.”

“What would these meetings entail?”

“Generally they are a way of direct communication between the Muses and myself. I like to know that my employees are comfortable and happy with their work.”

“And have Muses ever come forward with complaints before?”

“They have,” Ichirou said, “and I try to address every complaint I receive.”

“Could you give an example of this?”

“Another Muse, Mx Alvarez, recently submitted an issue regarding leave off work. They wanted to spend time with their new partner, so I allowed them to take four months paid leave. I believe they are in San Francisco right now.”

“Does that sound similar to Neil Josten’s complaint?” Eunomia asked.

Neil heard Matt’s muttered curse from behind him, but he didn’t turn around.

“Yes,” Ichirou said. “I suppose it does.”

“Has Neil Josten ever come to you with a request or complaint?”

“He asked for showers to be installed at _Moriyama Muses_ so he could run to and from work. I complied, of course. Health and well-being is important to me and my company.”

“So, in the past, Neil Josten has felt comfortable coming to you with issues at work?”

“Yes.”

“Can you think of any reason why Neil Josten would not come to you with an issue regarding his employment contract?”

“I’m afraid I cannot.”

“No further questions, my lady,” Eunomia said, and then turned back to Ichirou. “Please remain in the stand as my learnèd sister may have further questions.”

Themis turned to Dike. “Would you like to question the defendant?”

“Thank you, my lady,” Dike said, and then addressed Ichirou, “Mr. Moriyama, could you describe the nature of Mx Alvarez’s work at _Moriyama Muses?”_

“Could you clarify what you mean by ‘nature’.”

“What are their usual assignments?”

“They inspire their assigned artists in the same way Nathaniel Wesninski does. They also handle a lot of administration.”

“Could that administration be done from home?”

“I suppose so.”

“When you permitted Mx Alvarez time off work, as in, away from _Moriyama Muses’_ headquarters, did you assign them any tasks to be completed during that time?”

Neil could see Ichirou’s jaw clench. “I did.”

“What were those tasks?”

“Processing artist referrals, and uploading artist information to the monitoring system we have in place.”

“So, in other words, Mx Alvarez did not take time _off_ work, as much as you allowed them to go about their usual work routine from home?”

“Yes.”

“Did working from home affect their productivity at all?”

“I don’t know,” Ichirou said. “I haven’t checked in with their progress.”

“But earlier you said you see your employees once a month for one-to-one meetings, yes?”

“I did say that. Mx Alvarez has only been working from home for two weeks.”

Dike addressed Themis. “Permission to approach the defendant with _Document A,_ my lady?”

“Permission granted.”

Dike took a document from the evidence pile on her desk, and handed it to Ichirou. “Could you identify this document, please.”

“It is a progress report of Mx Alvarez.”

“And where would this information be found?”

“It’s accessible from the _Moriyama Muses’_ shared network.”

“Could you read out the date this report was made. It is located on the first page.”

“It was made yesterday.”

“Does the statistics on the report seem irregular to Mx Alvarez’s statistics from their work while based at the _Moriyama Muses’_ headquarters?”

“I do not know.”

“I’ll make it easier for you,” Dike said, and Neil felt his lips twitch, the first smile since the court began. “If you could turn to page two, please.” Ichirou did. “Could you read the date printed on the top of _this_ page.”

“April 21st,” Ichirou said.

“Two months ago,” Dike clarified. “Where was Mx Alvarez at that time?”

“I don’t recall.”

“If you could read the first line of section two.”

Ichirou did, but he didn’t read anything aloud for a long time. He just stared at the page before him. At length he said, in a cool tone, “Status report. Muse: Alvarez. Artist: None. Current assignment: Processing incoming referrals. Location: _Moriyama Muses.”_

“Would it be safe to say, then, that the first two pages of statistics, the first being where Mx Alvarez is working from home, the second where they are working from the _Moriyama Muses’_ headquarters, is an indicator of whether there is a notable difference in Mx Alvarez’s productivity when they are based in different locations?”

“I suppose one could say that.”

“And is there any notable differences between the two statistics?”

Ichirou flipped back and forth, clearly looking for something, but eventually set the document back down and said, “No.”

“Just to clarify for the court, Mx Alvarez is just as productive working from home as they are working from the _Moriyama Muses’_ headquarters?”

“Yes.”

“So when you permitted Mx Alvarez four months paid leave in San Francisco with their girlfriend, there was very little risk involved for you, as they could be just as productive working from home.”

“Yes.”

“Could you describe the risk involved in allowing Neil Josten to leave _Moriyama Muses_ permanently?”

“I would lose an employee.”

“And Neil Josten is a very productive employee, is he not?”

Ichirou glanced at the document before him for a second, noticing the additional pages. Neil guessed that he had already worked out that the file contained the productivity statistics of every Muse from the last two months, and that there was no point in pretending he didn’t know that Neil completed nearly three times more assignments than other Muses in a year.

“He is,” Ichirou replied.

“Would it be difficult to replace Neil Josten?”

Ichirou saw an opening, and he latched onto it as tightly as he held onto his calm façade. “It would be considerably easier if he informed me he wanted to leave, and gave me advanced notice like many employment contracts state,” he said smoothly, “but yes, I suppose it would be an inconvenience to find another candidate for the role.”

“Was there a part in Neil Josten’s contract that stated he had to give notice if he wanted to leave _Moriyama Muses?”_

“There was not. It was my own mistake expecting that my employees will be as open with communication as I am.”

“How often do employees complain about something related to work?”

“Not particularly often,” Ichirou said. “I, of course, try to make sure that every employee feels supported and has their needs met before they have to ask.”

Dike turned to Themis. “Permission to approach the defendant with _Document B,_ my lady?”

“Permission granted.”

Dike took a document from the evidence pile on her desk and handed it to Ichirou. “Could you identify this document.”

Ichirou looked it over, though his expression didn’t change. “This is an overview of a one-to-one meeting with an employee of _Moriyama Muses.”_

“And who wrote this document?”

“I did.”

“Could you read out the first page, please.”

Ichirou regarded Dike with a cool look, but he couldn’t do anything about it while he was on the stand. The Justice Court was _not_ his domain. When Dike did no more than meet his gaze, Ichirou looked back down to the document. “Muse: Seth Gordon,” he began. “Issue: A request for a pay rise given to staff when they have been employed at _Moriyama Muses_ for longer than five years. Outcome: Request denied.”

“So this states that an employee came to you with a complaint,” Dike said, “and you did not address it. Mr. Moriyama, is it true that Seth Gordon was fired from his job at _Moriyama Muses_ not three weeks after issuing his complaint?”

Ichirou still appeared calm, though his voice was slightly strained. “Prior to his request for a raise, Seth Gordon had been issued a formal warning for his attitude to fellow employees. This meant he was under stricter supervision. His departure from my company was not a consequence of his request, but of his behaviour throughout the duration of his five year employment.”

“But you admit that you did not address the complaint, when earlier in your testimony you claimed that you addressed every complaint where possible.”

“‘Where possible’ does not mean everything.”

“So a complaint over a pay rise is something that cannot be addressed? A pay rise seems like quite the reasonable request.” Dike didn’t give Ichirou time to answer before continuing, “In fact, I put it to you now, Mr. Moriyama, that Seth Gordon’s complaint not being addressed was not an outlier, but how most complaints are dealt with, and Neil Josten’s decision not to bring up his desire to end his employment with _Moriyama Muses_ was because he feared the consequences of doing so.”

“I do not presume to understand Nathaniel Wesninski’s motivations,” Ichirou said, though his mask of calm was beginning to crack.

Dike pressed on with her theory. “You made sure that your contract with Neil Josten contained no termination clause because you never intended to release Neil Josten of his employment and in the event of a complaint, you would punish him just as you did Seth Gordon.”

“That is incorrect,” Ichirou said, through tight lips.

Dike turned to Themis. “No further questions, my lady.”

Themis turned to Eunomia. “Would you like to re-examine the witness?”

Eunomia assessed Ichirou, and likely seeing that he had been successfully angered and therefore more likely to make a mistake, shook her head. “I do not.”

Themis turned her head to Ichirou. “You may be seated.” She waited for _Fragarach_ to be unclasped from his throat, and for Ichirou to retake his seat before addressing Eunomia. “Would you like to call another witness?”

“If it pleases you, my lady, I would like to call my second witness, Marissa Sanchez.”

Neil recognised the name. Marissa was the painter he had been assigned when he had been Alex, four years ago. Neil watched as she climbed the stairs to the witness stand, accepted _Fragarach,_ and was sworn in.

“What is your name?” Eunomia asked her.

“Marrisa Sanchez.”

“What is your current occupation?”

“I’m a painter.”

“And how do you know Neil Josten?”

“Well, he wasn’t Neil Josten or Nathaniel Wesninski when I knew him, but I met him four years ago and he told me that his name was Alex Gupta.”

“Could you describe your relationship with Neil Josten?”

“Purely platonic, though I did ask him out once. We used to hang out a lot, and he’d take me to these most amazing places that I never knew existed. We joined the circus for a weekend and went to museums.” She trailed off, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “Right, so, we did a bunch of crazy stuff for almost a month, and then he disappeared. I hadn’t seen him since until now.”

“How often did you see him?”

“Almost every week.”

“But not every week. Less frequent than that?”

“There were occasions that I didn’t see him for a couple weeks, but he said that he had work.”

“Did Neil Josten ever talk to you about wanting to leave his line of work?”

“I didn’t even know that he was a Muse hired to inspire me until this trial,” Marissa said. “But he always seemed like he was running from something. When we were in the circus, he told me that he wished he could do this forever. I thought he meant being in a circus specifically, but now I think he meant running away.”

Eunomia nodded, and turned to Themis. “Permission to approach the witness with _Document C,_ my lady?”

“Permission granted,” Themis said.

Eunomia stepped around her desk, and approached the witness stand with a white case file in hand. She placed it in front of Marissa, and asked, “Could you identify this document, Ms. Sanchez.”

“I’ve never seen this before,” Marissa said.

“That’s okay, Ms. Sanchez. Could you turn to the first page, and describe it in your own words.”

“There’s a photograph of me, and some details about my age and…” she paused, reading something else, “and details about my work as a painter.”

“Could you read out the date on the first page?”

Marissa did, placing the document at four years old.

“Could you turn to page eleven and read the first four lines, please?”

Marissa flipped the pages one at a time until she found page eleven. Neil couldn’t remember what was on this page, but he knew that it was in the section of his assignment notes, where he outlined every day’s activities with his assigned artist.

“Muse: Alex Gupta. Artist: Marissa Sanchez. Date: July 12th. I took Marissa to the circus today. She needs more excitement in her life to make bolder choices with her work.”

“So just to clarify, that document states that four years ago, Neil Josten, as Alex Gupta, took you to a circus?”

“Yes.”

“And on the day he took you to a circus, he made a comment about wishing to run away to the circus forever?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” Eunomia said, “I have no further questions.”

Themis nodded, and Eunomia took her seat beside Ichirou once more. Themis offered Dike the chance to cross-examine Marissa as a witness, which Dike accepted.

“Ms. Sanchez,” Dike started, “Could you describe Neil Josten’s character from your brief time with him.”

“Yes, he was very interesting,” Marissa said, a slight blush on her cheeks. Marissa wasn’t the first to call Neil interesting, but Neil knew that thinking of Andrew’s opinion of him was an unhelpful distraction, so he pushed down those thoughts and tried to focus on Marissa’s testimony.

“He always seemed so energetic,” Marissa continued. “And so full of life. He found everything funny and every time he smiled it made everyone else want to smile too.”

Dike smiled. “And would you say that Alex Gupta is similar to the Neil Josten here today?”

Marissa faltered. “I mean, they’re definitely the same person…”

“But you think that their personalities are vastly different,” Dike said.

“Objection, my lady,” Eunomia called out, a scowl fixed in place. “Leading the witness.”

“Objection sustained,” Themis said.

Dike tilted her head, accepting this, and reworded her question. “Do you think it is at all possible that the man who was hired to be your Muse was acting, pretending to be someone he was not, for your benefit?”

Marissa pressed her lips together and nodded. She seemed to remember that non-verbal answers were not encouraged, so she then said, “Yes.”

“Do you think you know Neil Josten well enough to know what was going through Neil Josten’s mind when he said that he ‘wished he could do this forever’?”

“No.”

“No further questions, my lady,” Dike said, and sat down again beside Neil. Neil could feel her win radiating through her skin like a source of energy, and Neil wished he could open himself up to it, to soak up the confidence he was not feeling.

Themis tilted her head to Eunomia. “Do you have any further questions for Ms. Sanchez?”

“No, my lady,” Eunomia said, and Marissa rubbed her neck from the tight fit of _Fragarach,_ and took her seat on the witness bench.

“Any more witnesses, Eunomia?” Themis asked.

“If it pleases my lady,” Eunomia said, “I would like to call my second witness, Erinys Anthony Browning.”

A middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper moustache stepped onto the witness stand, accepted _Fragarach,_ and was sworn in. Neil was surprised at the sight of him. He had never heard of a male Fury before.

“For the benefit of the court,” Eunomia said, “could you please identify yourself.”

“I am Erinys Anthony Browning,” Browning said, “attached to the _Tisiphone Bureau.”_

“How long have you been working for the Furies?”

“Twelve years.”

“Permission to approach the witness with _Document D,_ my lady?” Eunomia asked Themis.

“Permission granted.”

Eunomia pulled out the second document from the stack of evidence on her desk and set it on the witness stand for Browning to read. “Can you identify this document, Erinys Browning?”

Browning scanned the first page. “It is the arrest warrant of Nathan Wesninski.”

“Can you tell me the date Nathan Wesninski was arrested?”

Browning did: March 9th, four years ago.

“Were you working on this case, Erinys Browning?”

“I was. I was the first male Fury to lead a case of this size.”

“Could you describe, in your own words, how Nathan Wesninski’s arrest came to be?”

“The investigation into Nathan Wesninski’s offences was concluded when a witness previously out of the country, returned to the U.S. and was then able to testify.”

“Who was this witness?”

“Lynne Brown, a freelance journalist who investigated into the disappearance of Nathan Wesninski’s last victim. She witnessed Lola Malcolm—Nathan Wesninski’s personal assistant—burying a dismembered limb of the victim in what would be one of several parks in Baltimore.”

Eunomia nodded, and turned to Themis once more. “May I present _Document E_ to the witness?” Themis accepted her request, and Eunomia handed Browning another document. Neil couldn’t see the contents, but he recognised it as a screenshot of a website. “Erinys Browning, could you identify this document.”

“It is a screenshot of a website, centred on an article by Lynne Brown, titled _The American Dream: The Secret Inspiration of Contemporary Art.”_

“Could you read the date the article was posted.

“March 1st.”

“And could you read out the first paragraph of the article.”

“I’m here today to chat with the über mysterious Ichirou Moriyama, CEO of _Moriyama Muses._ Mr. Moriyama, dear readers, is more than a man of many Muses. He is also the saviour of my entire career, perhaps my life. Two years ago, I had managed to get myself into a bit of a pickle, and had to move back to my hometown in Australia. It was _hell._ But last week I got a call from Mr. Moriyama himself requesting a cover story interview by the one and only, _Baltimore Lynnette._ He was not only giving me the career breakthrough I needed, but also the means to move back to the States within the week! I was truly living the American Dream.”

“Thank you, Erinys Browning.” Eunomia turned to Eirene. “Ichirou Moriyama had never hired a journalist to publish a story on _Moriyama Muses_ before, and he has never done so since. Ichirou Moriyama only did so to make sure that Lynne Brown was able to testify; he did so to make sure that Nathan Wesninski was arrested and sent to prison for what would be the rest of his life.

“Ichirou Moriyama promised, in writing, that he would protect Neil Josten from his father, and he did. Ichirou Moriyama fulfilled his end of the bargain, abided by the contract written, and yet Neil Josten failed to do the same. Neil Josten was quite content to work as a Muse while he was being protected, but once his father was in prison—as soon as he no longer had something to run from—he wanted to break his word and breach his contract. Ichirou Moriyama should not be punished for keeping his word, and I implore you to find Ichirou not guilty.” She turned to Themis. “No further questions, my lady.”

Themis turned to Dike. “Do you have any questions for Erinys Browning?”

“I do,” Dike said, rising from her chair once more. “Erinys Browning, please could you remind the court what date Nathan Wesninski was arrested.”

“March 9th.”

“May I approach the witness with _Document F,_ my lady?” Dike asked Themis. Themis nodded. “Erinys Browning, could you identify this document.”

“It is the death certificate of Nathan Wesninski.”

“And could you read the date of Nathan Wesninski’s death?”

“March 31st.”

“How long is it, on average, until the public finds out about an inmate’s death for a high profile case such as Nathan Wesninski’s?”

“A matter of hours after the report is released.”

“So, would it be an unusually long time if the public didn’t find out about Nathan Wesninski’s death, on March 31st, until July?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it is likely that Neil Josten didn’t hear about the death of his own father, his greatest fear, for over three months?”

“I don’t know Neil Josten well enough to make those assumptions.”

Dike smiled tightly. “No further questions, my lady. You may now release the witness.”

“Do you have any further witnesses?” Themis asked Eunomia once Erinys Browning had left the courtroom.

“Yes,” Eunomia said. “For the defence’s fourth and final witness, I would like to call Andrew Minyard to the stand.”

Neil’s heart skipped a beat, and this time he did turn around to watch Andrew slowly rise from his chair beside Renee, and follow the court usher to the stand. He looked bored and unperturbed but Neil knew that none of the Muses had prepared for the event of Andrew being called as a witness.

Neil curled his fingers into fists under the table when he saw the tension in Andrew’s shoulder rise as the court usher leaned into Andrew’s space to fasten _Fragarach_ around his throat. The court usher didn’t touch Andrew, but the proximity was bad enough. Both Neil and Andrew exhaled a breath of relief when the usher stepped back to their place on the courtroom floor.

“Could you please state your full name for the court?” Eunomia asked Andrew.

Andrew didn’t flinch at the word, but Neil still wanted to tell her to shut up, to stop her from saying _please,_ but he knew that Andrew wouldn’t appreciate him fighting his battles, and it would reflect badly on both Andrew and their case as a whole.

“Andrew Minyard.”

“What is your current occupation?”

“I am an artist and a freelance copywriter.”

“What is your relationship to Neil Josten?”

“He was the Muse hired to inspire me,” Andrew said, and Neil could hear the derision around the word ‘inspire’, but he didn’t think Eunomia or Eirene would be able to pick up on it.

“How long have you known him?”

“Just under four months.”

“And how would you describe your relationship with Neil Josten?”

It was a while before Andrew answered. “I have been seeing him almost every day since we first met.”

“A fast friendship, then,” Eunomia said, but it wasn’t a question so Andrew didn’t reply. “When did you find out that Neil Josten was a Muse working for _Moriyama Muses?”_

“Three weeks ago.”

“Do you know what prompted him to tell you?”

“I don’t.”

“So there was no specific trigger that comes to mind?”

“I told him that I wouldn’t buy him groceries,” Andrew said. “He told me his name wasn’t really Neil.”

“What was his name?”

Neil froze, but Andrew didn’t blink. “Is that relevant?”

“I fail to see the relevance, Eunomia,” Themis said.

“I was trying to understand whether Neil Josten gave Andrew Minyard yet another fake name or not,” Eunomia told her, and then turned back to Andrew. “Moving on: do you think it was possible that Neil Josten would tell you the truth of his occupation in an attempt to get you to trust him more?”

Andrew didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“So he was not acting on behalf of his assignment, when he told you the truth, but rather of his own self interests?”

Andrew was slower to answer this time. “I don’t know the reasons behind Neil’s actions. He did not tell me, nor can I read minds.”

Eunomia nodded. “So, just to confirm that you said that you saw Neil Josten almost every day for the past four months?”

“Give or take a few days, yes.”

“That’s significantly more than Neil Josten met up with Marissa Sanchez.”

Andrew appeared bored by the comparison. “Perhaps I make better company.”

“Perhaps,” Eunomia said, with a sly sort of smile that Neil didn’t trust for an instant. She turned to Themis. “May I approach the witness with _Document G,_ my lady?”

“You may.”

Eunomia handed Andrew a sheet of paper, but Neil couldn’t read Andrew’s expression to tell whether he recognised it or not.

“Could you identify this document, Mr. Minyard,” Eunomia instructed.

Andrew didn’t move for a few seconds, before reaching over and examining the page. “It is the outcome of my trial six years ago.”

“And could you read out the judge’s notes in section two.”

“Andrew Minyard is destructive and joyless, according to his high-school teachers,” Andrew began, his voice a monotone that set Neil’s blood on fire with fury. Neil had to plant his feet firmer into the marble floor to stop himself from launching at Eunomia for forcing Andrew to do this. “His reaction to Nicholas Hemmick’s attack, while in defence of his cousin, was disturbingly violent. Andrew Minyard has been given a mandate for mood-altering medication for three years, alongside weekly counselling.”

Eunomia let that settle in before asking her next question. “Do you believe yourself to be a good person, Mr. Minyard?”

Andrew didn’t answer for a long time, but the effects of _Fragarach_ drew an answer from his lips. “No.”

Neil started to rise from his chair without thinking, but Dike clasped her hand around his arm and pushed him back down with ease.

“Do you think you are a good influence on Neil Josten?”

“That is subjective,” Andrew ground out.

“Very well,” Eunomia said. “There is security footage from March 11th this year, of you taking Neil Josten to an arcade called _The Wild Hunt,_ where there have been increasingly high numbers of drug dealings. Had Neil Josten attended this venue before?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Did you think that he would enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

“On what grounds?”

“What.”

“If you didn’t think Neil Josten had attended _The Wild Hunt_ before, what actions led you to believe he would enjoy spending time there three months ago?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“You go there quite frequently, don’t you? With your twin brother Aaron Minyard?”

“Yes.”

“Has your brother ever had struggles with drug addiction before?”

“Yes.”

“Is he sober now?”

“To my knowledge.”

“So he went to a rehabilitation centre?”

“No.”

“So how did he become clean? NA meetings?”

“Objection, my lady,” Dike said, still holding Neil in place while he was shaking with fury, with the urge to put his hands around Eunomia’s throat and _squeeze._ “Relevance.”

Themis turned to Eunomia. “Where are you going with this line of questioning?”

Eunomia stepped away from Andrew a little. “I am trying to build up what kind of man Andrew Minyard is.” She turned to address Eirene. “Neil Josten has spent an awful lot of time with Andrew Minyard compared to his assignments. Even Andrew Minyard himself doesn’t believe that he is a good person nor a good influence on Neil Josten.” Eunomia walked around as she talked, as if pacing her thoughts into the marble itself. “Neil Josten’s contract stated that the defendant, Ichirou Moriyama, would protect Neil Josten in exchange for his employment at _Moriyama Muses._ Eleven days ago Ichirou Moriyama pulled Neil Josten out of his assignment with Andrew Minyard on the grounds that Andrew Minyard was a dangerous person to be around.”

_That’s a lie,_ Neil wanted to shout, but Eunomia didn’t stop there.

“The defendant, Ichirou Moriyama, who promised Neil Josten protection, was trying to keep his valued employee away from a criminal who was deemed so unstable by the court that he had to be put on mood-altering drugs for three years, who frequently visits a venue notorious for drug dealing with a recovering addict.”

Eunomia turned to Andrew. “When did you meet Kevin Day?”

Everyone in the court was too busy reeling from the change of conversation to call out an objection.

“Seven years ago, when he tried to recruit me to the Ravens.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I turned down his offer.”

“And yet he showed up at Palmetto State University less than a year later, leaving everything he has known, to stand by your side.”

Andrew didn’t answer straight away. “Yes.”

“Does the pattern sound familiar, Mr. Minyard? You seem to have quite the collection of people at your side, having taken them from safety and success. Even your cousin, Nicholas Hemmick, had a happy life in Germany before you led him astray.”

_How dare she._

Andrew didn’t react to the bait. Didn’t throw the facts of Kevin’s abuse in her face. Neil had no such patience, but a harsh yank on his arm from Dike stopped him from scrambling over the table.

Eunomia let her words sink in, let the doubt settle into Eirene’s mind, and then turned to Themis. “No more questions, my lady.”

Dike stood before Themis had the chance to offer her a turn to interrogate Andrew.

“Mr. Minyard,” Dike started. “Are you a danger to Neil Josten?”

Andrew didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“Have you ever had the intent to hurt him?”

“No.”

“Do you think you will ever intend to hurt him?”

“No.”

“Why is that?”

Andrew’s gaze left Eirene’s, despite the advice that the witness should always address her. His eyes met Neil’s with such intensity that Neil felt like everyone else had disappeared. It was just Andrew and Neil and Neil and Andrew. No one else.

“Because he is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.”

“Do you recall what date my sister, Eunomia, stated Ichirou Moriyama pulled Neil Josten out of his assignment with you?”

“June eleventh.”

“What were you doing on that date?”

“I was making work.”

“Could you clarify for the court what ‘making work’ means for you?”

“I was creating one of the first pieces of artwork after a two year art block.”

“Does that mean, in other words, that you had been inspired to make art again?”

“Yes.”

“So, one could say, Neil Josten had completed his assignment with you, to the best of his ability?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it is likely Ichirou Moriyama did _not,_ in fact, pull Neil Josten out of his assignment early, but rather called Neil Josten back to headquarters because his assignment was complete?”

“I think Ichirou Moriyama called Neil back because his assignment with me was completed, not because he thought I was too big a risk to his investment. I think that is why it was your sister who brought this up, not Ichirou Moriyama.”

“And why is that?”

Andrew tapped the gold collar around his neck. “Witnesses are required to wear _Fragarach._ It is what makes me, Ichirou Moriyama, and every other witness unable to lie on the stand. Dike and Eunomia wear no such influence.”

“Objection, my lady,” Eunomia called, outraged.

“On what grounds?” Dike hissed.

Eunomia didn’t answer, so Dike turned back to Andrew. “Why do you think Neil Josten wants to leave his contract?”

Andrew turned to Eirene. “Because Neil doesn’t want to live that life anymore,” Andrew started. “He doesn’t want to pretend to be people he is not. Because he has spent seven years living a lie to repay a debt that should never have been held over his head. Neil’s father should have been locked behind bars the moment Neil was born. He shouldn’t have to pay for the Furies’ incompetence.”

“No further questions, my lady,” Dike said. “You may now release the witness.”

Neil’s eyes followed Andrew as he stepped down from the witness stand to the bench, but he forced his gaze ahead once Andrew sat down. He let Andrew’s gaze on him anchor him as he took steadying breaths. This was it. The closing statements. Neil wanted it over as much as he wanted to put it off. Eirene’s final decision was the crux of whether Neil would be able to leave free, with Andrew at his side, or be shackled to Ichirou Moriyama forever.

“My lady, my sister,” Dike started, addressing Themis and Eirene. “The defendant Ichirou Moriyama is charged with fraud by false representation in that he drew up a contract with Neil Josten that would entrap him as an employee indefinitely, even though there was nothing more for Neil Josten to require protection from. There are four main things that prove the guilt of Ichirou Moriyama.

“The first thing is that Neil Josten was only sixteen years old when he signed his contract with Ichirou Moriyama, after witnessing the death of his mother and sole caregiver. Neil Josten was in a state of deep psychological trauma, and Ichirou Moriyama chose to exploit that for his own personal gain. Neil Josten was not given a wage for his labour. That is the second thing to consider. This rendered him entirely dependent on the resources provided by _Moriyama Muses,_ meaning that Neil Josten could not quit his employment without losing his ability to survive and provide for himself. Ichirou Moriyama had tailored Neil Josten’s open-ended and unconscionable contract to give himself paramount power over Neil Josten. His apparent ‘offer’ to protect Neil Josten from his father, convicted killer Nathan Wesninski, provided him with the perfect opportunity to extort Neil Josten into permanent employment. Ask yourself, my sister, why would Ichirou Moriyama refuse to add a termination clause in his contract with Neil Josten unless he intended to keep Neil Josten as an employee indefinitely?

“My sister, the defence would have you believe that Ichirou Moriyama truly intended to release Neil Josten from his contract once his debt had been paid, but no terms of this debt were ever written. There has never been any outline of how much money Neil Josten owed Ichirou Moriyama. They would have you believe that Neil Josten’s decision to terminate his employment was made on a whim because he did not ask Danielle Wilds for advice on his contract, or bring up his issue with the contract to Ichirou Moriyama himself, when previous complaints from Muses prove that Ichirou Moriyama refuses to address issues as straight-forward as a pay rise. The defence would have you believe that Ichirou Moriyama’s actions to publicise his company accounts for the arrest of Nathan Wesninski, and that this somehow relates to Neil Josten’s wish to end his unconscionable employment contract.

“The evidence for this relies heavily on events of the past. Marissa Sanchez had not seen Neil Josten in four years, and yet the defence would have you believe that she is a good judge of what Neil Josten _really_ meant in a passing comment. The defence would have you believe that Neil Josten had desired to leave his contract with _Moriyama Muses_ after hearing of his father’s death three months after the event, even though their own witness, Erinys Browning, recognises the improbability of this. Their fourth and final witness to bring to the stand does not even believe Neil Josten should have had a contract drawn with Ichirou Moriyama in the first place.

“The prosecution, however, says that Ichirou Moriyama drew up an contract with Neil Josten to exploit a sixteen year old boy for the rest of his life. Ichirou Moriyama had no intention of ever releasing Neil Josten from his contract, even when Nathan Wesninski—the supposed ‘risk’ of employing Neil Josten—was dead. Ichirou Moriyama held Neil Josten to an unconscionable contract. If you also believe this, I urge you to find Ichirou Moriyama guilty. The verdict in this case does more than decide just this case. The verdict is a message to citizens of this country that we will not tolerate unconscionable contracts. That we will not allow powerful men to go unchecked, abusing their power and exploiting young people who want to be free of their nightmares and abusers. Thank you. That is the case for the prosecution.”

“Eunomia,” Themis said once Dike had once again sat down beside Neil.

“My sister,” Eunomia began after standing up, addressing Eirene. “The prosecution has tried to prove that the defendant, Ichirou Moriyama is guilty of fraud by false representation. Evidence for this relies on the testimony of Neil Josten, a biased party, and the accounts of other employees of _Moriyama Muses,_ Neil Josten’s friends. _Fragarach_ does not allow witnesses to lie on the stand, this is not to be disputed. However, it is still possible for witnesses to lie to themselves; they may believe Neil Josten a good person incapable of breaking his contract without good reason, but belief is not fact, is not unbiased truth.

“Ichirou Moriyama is _assumed_ to have drawn up an unconscionable contract with Neil Josten. Yet that contract has been in effect for seven years and not once did Neil Josten go to his friend and senior representative of the _Moriyama Muses’_ trade union, Danielle Wilds, to help him renegotiate his employment contract with Ichirou Moriyama. In fact, Neil Josten’s decision to leave has been a recent one. His newfound and questionable friendship with ex-convict Andrew Minyard, who was put on mind-altering drugs by the court after he sent four men to hospital, was one Ichirou Moriyama was attempting to protect him from. Ichirou Moriyama has successfully protected Neil Josten by securing the arrest of Nathan Wesninski, and has continued to protect Neil Josten because it was what he had promised to do. Neil Josten has no such loyalty, willing to break his word because he has no respect for others or their promises.

“My sister, Ichirou Moriyama did not draw up an unconscionable contract with Neil Josten, and should not suffer from Neil Josten’s broken word. Ichirou Moriyama is innocent in this case. This case is based on _ifs, buts,_ and _whys,_ not pure facts. I ask you to find the defendant not guilty. Thank you. That is the case for the defence.”

Themis waited for Eunomia to sit down before turning to Eirene. “The directions I give you as to the law, you must accept and apply. However, when I refer to the evidence, the position is quite different. All questions of evidence and fact are for you and you alone to decide. That includes the evidence that has been agreed between the prosecution and the defence and before you. This case fundamentally boils down to who do you believe. Do you believe the prosecution when Neil Josten said he was bound by an unconscionable contract, or was he, as the defence claim, manipulated into wishing to leave a stable job and home and should, as such, be protected from such manipulations.

“Now it is important to remember, that the prosecution must prove the defendant’s guilt. It is not for Ichirou Moriyama to prove he is innocent. The prosecution must prove that the defendant is guilty beyond reasonable doubt. There are very few things in this world that we know with absolute certainty. Both the defence and the prosecution agree, that if you find that Ichirou Moriyama did bind Neil Josten to an unconscionable contract, then fraud by false representation is clear. I will now ask you to retire to consider your verdict. Thank you.”

Eirene then nodded and rose from her chair, making her vows to the court. “I will make my true verdict in a private and convenient place. I shall speak to no one, except with leave of the Court, until I have agreed upon my verdict.”

The then left the courtroom through the side door she and her sisters had entered from. It was several minutes before she returned. The courtroom was silent as she made her way back to her chair.

“Would the defendant please stand,” the court clerk said.

Ichirou Moriyama rose from his chair gracefully.

“Would Lady Eirene please stand,” the court clerk said.

Eirene also rose from her chair, with an air of elegance and fluidity that made Ichirou look like a stumbling toddler.

“Have you reached your verdict?” the court clerk asked.

“I have,” Eirene said.

“What is your verdict?”

Neil felt time slow down. The blood in his veins started to run backwards. His lungs stopped taking in oxygen, and closed his airways. The courtroom disappeared into a black hole of nothingness. Neil’s future was balanced in Eirene’s hands, and he didn’t know whether he could bear to trust her with it.

“Guilty.”

Neil sagged back in his chair. He felt his lips twitch in a relieved smile, and he didn’t try to stop it. _He was free._ He didn’t hear the court clerk instruct Eirene to sit down again, or Themis thank Eirene for her service, or Eunomia make her statement of mitigation. He didn’t hear Themis’s sentence, because he didn’t care. He was free.

Neil tuned back into the courtroom around him to pick up Themis’s final ruling. The court would not enforce Ichirou’s contract, so Neil was free to leave _Moriyama Muses._ However, he would not do so immediately. Neil had to remain a Muse until the end of the year to allow Ichirou to find a suitable replacement, but he could do so part-time, based at _Moriyama Muses’_ headquarters. Neil didn’t mind this; it would mean he could spend the rest of his time with Andrew, if Andrew allowed it.

“Mr. Josten,” Themis said, “do you accept these terms?”

And that’s what it always came down to: _yes or no._

_Yes_ to a touch.

_Yes_ to a kiss.

_Yes_ to a life.

“I do.”

Themis nodded. “Would Neil Josten please stand.”

Neil did, and waited as the clerk approached Ichirou with a piece of bronze and a set of scales, and placed them in Ichirou’s hand.

“Repeat after me,” the clerk instructed. “According to Mancipatio law, I affirm that Neil Josten’s labour is no longer mine, and he has earned his freedom with bronze and scales.”

Ichirou repeated the words, and then—as instructed—struck the scales with the piece of bronze, and gave both back to the clerk. The clerk accepted the pieces, and passed them along to Neil.

“Repeat after me,” he said. “According to Mancipatio law, I affirm that my labour is no longer Ichirou Moriyama’s, and I have earned my freedom with bronze and scales.”

Neil repeated the words in a daze, and only came back to himself when Themis called him by name. “Neil Josten, you are free to leave.”

Neil somehow kept his feet moving one in front of the other on his path out of the courtroom, but he remembered the Muses eyes on him as they were instructed to wait until they were dismissed by Themis.

When he swung open the large doors of the Justice Court building, the sun shone directly in his face, and he closed his eyes to it. He breathed in freedom and held it, refusing to exhale in fear of waking up in his dark apartment on his threadbare mattress, only to find he had to return to _Moriyama Muses_ after waking from an incredible dream.

Neil tuned out the sound of passersby and light traffic as he stood there, a free man.

He only opened his eyes when he felt a light hand on his shoulder. Dan stood before him, the sunlight shining from behind her that the wisps of baby hairs lit up around her face like a halo.

“Neil,” she said, a little breathless and a little concerned.

“Hey,” he said, and the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with him. “We won.”

Dan grinned, and threw her arms around him, burying a choked laugh against his shoulder. She pressed a firm kiss against his temple. “Yeah, Neil. We won!”

The other Muses swarmed around them, giving him hair ruffles and light pats on the shoulders that he had grown to appreciate. This had to be a cruel dream. Their determination to keep Neil safe and whole threatened to burn Neil up from the inside-out, as healing as it was damning. He didn’t deserve their friendship, their trust, or the way they had rallied behind him like this.

But he would take what had been offered to him. He soaked in their grins and relieved expressions, and then turned to find Andrew leaning against the marble walls of the Justice Court, with two cigarettes in hand.

Neil stepped out of the Muses’ circle and they let him go, passing on the message that they would see him when they got back to Laila and Alvarez’s apartment. He didn’t answer them in favour of standing in front of Andrew and accepting the lit cigarette Andrew held out to him.

“Your close calls are getting old,” Andrew said.

“I think you find them more interesting,” Neil said.

“Survival tip: no one likes a smart mouth.”

“Except you.”

Andrew didn’t answer, and that was as close to an _I like you_ that Neil thought he would ever hear. At least for now. Neil had no idea what Andrew could be like in a year's time, or two, or fifty. With the exception of his mother, Neil had never imagined his future including anyone else, but with his shackles to _Moriyama Muses_ broken, Neil had a family who would never give up on him, a future that could never be taken away from him again, and he had Andrew. Andrew, who he couldn’t help but smile at and lean into, pausing inches away from crossing a boundary and touching skin. Andrew nodded minutely, and Neil closed the distance between them, pressing his forehead to Andrew’s and breathing together. Andrew had no such patience for this softness, and he curled his fingers around Neil’s tie and used it to pull Neil closer still.

The gentleness of Andrew’s kiss made Neil correct his earlier assumption. Perhaps softness was what they both needed right now. There was no rush, no urgency. Their lives were no longer on the line, and the fight was over.

They had won their chance of a future, and now all they had to do was live it.


	10. ONE YEAR LATER

**A** ndrew’s phone started vibrating on his bedside table, and with a grumble his arm left the warm comforts of his duvet and made a blind grab for it. He flipped it open and pressed it to his ear, rolling over to his other side and pulling the duvet back over his shoulder to keep the cold out.

“What.”

“Did I wake you?” Nicky asked. “I thought Neil would have woken you by now.”

Andrew squinted one eye open and met Neil’s amused gaze looking back at him from the other side of the bed. Andrew pulled his hand out from under the duvet again to flip him off.

“He’s not gone on his run yet,” Andrew told Nicky, though the unspoken question was directed at Neil.

The duvet shrugged with Neil. “I’m comfy.”

Andrew hummed. It was a valid excuse Andrew was content to use every morning for the rest of his life.

“Anyway,” Nicky said. “I was calling to remind you that it’s Erik and my tenth anniversary—because ten years together sounds much better than two years married—next month, and we’re going to be throwing a little get-together to celebrate. Nothing big, no one you won’t recognise, just family and friends and food. The three best Fs. Well, and fucking, but Erik’s grandmother will be staying over and she’s—”

“We’ll be there,” Andrew interrupted. “Text me the details and I’ll book flights tomorrow.”

Nicky made a small squeal of excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Andrew felt a twinge in his chest at the reminder that Nicky felt like he needed to thank his family for spending time with him, for supporting his marriage. He didn’t ask if Nicky’s parents were going to attend. Nicky had stopped inviting them a long time ago.

“Is Aaron going?” Andrew asked, and his lips twitched at the small grimace that pulled at Neil’s face. Neil and Aaron were getting along better than the first time they had met several months ago, but it was still a work in progress.

“Yeah,” Nicky answered. “He and Katelyn confirmed last week. Popo’s coming too.”

It was Andrew’s turn to grimace at the thought of their rat-looking dog. Sir and King were considerably better animals to keep, even if Sir’s breath constantly smelled of fish and King was a fan of midnight singing. At least they didn’t shit on the carpet.

“Have you spoken to him recently?” Nicky asked, predictably.

Andrew hummed loud enough for Nicky to hear. “We’re going to see them over Christmas.”

Nicky paused for a beat longer than usual. “Did Aaron plan a whole family get together without telling me? That little fucker made it out like you and Neil were busy over Christmas and couldn’t come over.”

“Aaron told me you were going to be with Erik’s family.”

“Sneaky bastard. He gets it from me, you know.”

“Yes, yes, thank you for raising us so well,” Andrew said dryly, even though he means every word.

Nicky cackled out a laugh. “You’re welcome, midget mite. Now put Neil on. I want to hear his beautiful voice and imagine his beautiful face. You’re so lucky you get to wake up to him every morning, Andrew.”

Nicky prattled on for several more seconds, but Andrew wasn’t listening. He just stared at Neil, who was playing with King on his side of their bed. _Their bed. In their apartment. With their cats._ “I know,” Andrew said, and then poked Neil in the shoulder with his phone. Neil took it and held it to his ear, still dragging his hand under the duvet while King darted around trying to capture the mysterious creature in the bed. “Hello?”

Andrew couldn’t hear Nicky’s side of the conversation, but whatever he said made Neil smile slightly and glance over at Andrew. Andrew reached over and pushed Neil’s face away, feeling the scars move under his fingertips as Neil smiled and kissed the inside of Andrew’s wrist. Neil pulled his hand out from under the duvet, causing King to look around with confusion, and reached up to grab Andrew’s hand. Andrew tangled their fingers together first.

Neil was more tolerant of Nicky’s blabbering, so Andrew left him to it as he got up to go to the bathroom. He stopped in the kitchen on the way back to the bedroom to make two drinks—one tea, the obviously superior beverage, and one black and bitter coffee like Neil was torturing both his taste buds and Andrew’s sensibility. He left the kitchen with the two mugs in hand, but paused when he saw the two open doorways off the living room. One revealed Neil, who had King sprawled in his lap, and Neil smiled when he caught Andrew watching him. Andrew let himself look longer, and then averted his gaze to the second door.

Kevin had moved out two months ago after he, Jeremy, and Jean finally found an apartment that suited the three of them. His old bedroom had been converted into Andrew’s studio after, his desk perched under the window. There was a couch in the corner of the room that pulled out into a bed for the bad days, when Andrew couldn’t bear the weight of another person in his bed or when Neil couldn’t stand the memories of sharing a bed with his mother at his back or the stale fear of life on the run.

There were less bad days than there used to be, but Andrew was glad that he had someone at his side who understood that the bad days weren’t something temporary, weren’t something he could just ‘snap out of’, someone who supported him on the good days and the bad. Someone who he trusted not to run at the first sign of trouble.

Andrew was glad that someone was Neil.

“Andrew?”

Andrew looked back to the other doorway. Neil was standing in it, leaning against the door frame. “You okay?” he asked.

Andrew nodded, and held out the mug of black coffee. Neil accepted it, but didn’t go back into their room.

“Don’t you have work to get to?” Andrew asked, pushing past him to go back to bed.

Neil hummed, and followed him inside. Andrew pulled out an orange turtleneck and a pair of jeans from Neil’s side of their wardrobe, and threw them at Neil before climbing into bed with his hot coffee. Neil caught them with one arm while he tried not to spill his own coffee onto the floor, and shot Andrew a glare. Andrew wasn’t phased, and took a noisy sip from his mug. Neil draped the clothes over the foot of their bed and left the door open on his way to the bathroom because he knew it annoyed Andrew. Andrew glared at the open door until he heard the shower cut on.

It was several minutes until Andrew found the energy to get up again, but when he reached for the door handle to close it again, he saw that the bathroom door had been left slightly open too.

Andrew squinted at it for a little while, deciding what he was comfortable with that morning. He hadn’t had any nightmares the previous night, and the thought of Neil naked under steaming water lit a warmth in the pit of Andrew’s stomach. He dropped his half-empty mug on the coffee table as he made his way to the bathroom.

He closed the bathroom door behind him loud enough to alert Neil to his presence, and gave him enough time to say no before he tugged off his t-shirt and sweatpants. It had been several months since he wore armbands around Neil when it was just the two of them, and Andrew had no qualms about showing Neil his scars when Neil treated them with reverence. They both bore the scars of their pasts, and neither had felt disgust or misplaced pity at the sight of them.

Andrew climbed into the shower, and Neil stepped back slightly to let Andrew into the spray of hot water.

“Hey,” Neil said.

“I started listening to Renee’s pleas of environmentalism,” Andrew said. He gestured between them. “This is about saving water.”

Neil’s grin was a challenge. “Oh is that right?”

“Stop talking,” Andrew said, and leaned in to kiss him.

* * *

**N** eil flipped the sign in the window of _The Foxhole Court_ to OPEN when he shut the door behind him. He was the last to arrive, raising the suspicions of the others.

Allison stepped out from the office doorway, her long blonde hair tucked into her orange turtleneck. She gave him an assessing once over before asking, “So were you mugged, did you find a cat in distress, or was the morning sex particularly mind-blowing?”

Neil didn’t say that it was Andrew who would more likely stop to help a stray, since Neil didn’t think his sex life was any of his friends’ business and he didn’t look like he had been mugged.

“I couldn’t find my phone,” he lied.

Someone hummed from behind him and when Neil turned, the arm that was likely aimed for Neil’s shoulders was soon draped over his head.

“You couldn’t find your concealer, either,” Dan said, poking at a bruise on Neil’s neck.

Neil batted her hand away and side-stepped out of reach. “Don’t you have a painting class to go to?”

Four months ago, _The Foxhole Court_ roller-disco closed down. Neil, with the compensation awarded from _The Justice Court,_ managed to scrape enough money together to lease the shop beneath Neil and Andrew’s apartment. He decided to keep the name that had kickstarted his and Andrew’s relationship, the name that marked the beginning of Neil’s journey to freedom, to a future.

He opened a small art gallery that offered classes taught by local artists. The Muses—or rather, the _Foxes,_ as they were now known—came by between assignments, though this past week they had been here more often than they weren’t due to the exhibition _The Foxhole Court_ was launching that weekend.

Dan stuck her tongue out at him and headed for the second floor, passing Matt on the stairs. Matt had a cardboard box in hand, and when Neil peered inside it contained the batch of laser cut captions Neil had asked Matt to make. He took one out and inspected the quality of the type, running his finger down the smooth edge before placing it back in the box.

“Good?” Matt asked.

Neil nodded, and Matt set the box down on one of the plinths. Neil walked around the exhibition space, and came to a stop in front of the vinyl text on the walls introducing the artist and the work.

Andrew Minyard’s _The Keeper of Lost Things_ is a collection of found objects, each a witness to the act of being lost or abandoned. Organised chronologically by the date the object was found, opposed to the date of manufacture or organised by type, the viewer finds them in seemingly unhistorical and largely uninterpreted arrangements. Antique items sit alongside contemporary items, ephemera and detritus are next to objects of monetary value. The lack of historical categorisation is a subversion of standard museological practice. Viewers are free to create their own associations, write their own stories for these forgotten objects. If you think one of these items is something you have lost, do not contact Andrew Minyard. Finders keepers.

Exhibition organised by _The Foxhole Court._ With particular thanks to the Muse who started it all: _thank you. You were amazing._

Andrew had written his own introduction, later tweaked into the third person, and Neil couldn’t imagine asking for anyone else to write it. He looked from one piece to the next, soaking them in, revelling in everything Andrew had accomplished this year and imagining his reaction when he saw what the Foxes had made of his work.

Andrew had given Neil the reins as curator, his only request being “no orange.” They hadn’t had to change much to work around that. The walls were already painted white, and Neil had already planned on charcoal grey for the vinyl text. The only orange Neil hadn’t allowed Andrew to banish were the orange turtlenecks the Foxes wore as their uniform. Neil wondered how Andrew would react if Neil told him that he too had to wear an orange turtleneck. It only took him a second to know exactly how Andrew would react to the lie: his expression would not change. He would simply turn around and leave, only to return with the promises of hot chocolate and ice-cream.

Neil heard the door open behind him, and he turned to see Nicky, visiting from Germany to see Andrew’s exhibition. He had two bags in hand, both straining with the weight of the wine they were going to give out to guests during the opening night.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

Neil hadn’t realised he was smiling, but he wasn’t surprised. “Life?”

Nicky smiled, and his presence was quickly noticed by the other Foxes. They all hugged him when they saw him, and emptied his hands of the wine. Dan carried both bags to the tiny kitchen with ease, throwing a joke about Nicky’s ‘noodle arms’ when he whined about the calluses on his palms.

“Hey! I do not have noodle arms! I played Exy!” Nicky protested.

“You haven’t played Exy in three years,” Matt said, only knowing that because both he and Neil immediately tried to start a conversation with Nicky over the sport. Neil had an ulterior motive when he did, wanting to know as much as possible about Andrew’s time as goalie for PSU, and Nicky had been all too happy to gossip about how Andrew was ‘unbeatable’ and ‘what saved our asses every game’. Neil knew that Nicky was prone to exaggerate, but he had wondered.

Neil had only seen Andrew on an Exy court once, and he knew it would be a long time before he could hope to see it again. It had been his birthday, and Andrew had persuaded him to skip his morning run with warm hands and searing kisses, and then ushered him into his car later that afternoon. Neil hadn’t a clue what they were supposed to be doing, but he had stopped asking when Andrew told him it was a surprise. He had expected a road trip or going out for ice-cream, but words escaped him when Andrew pulled up at their local Exy stadium. He couldn’t even _think_ when he’d found out a few minutes later that they were there to _play._

Andrew had been the rock for Neil to lean on over the past year and a half, and Neil only hoped he could be as much for Andrew as he was to Neil. Their bad days were fewer and further apart, but there were days where Neil needed firm words, grounding touch at the back of his neck, and a bored expression to talk at. Andrew’s bad days needed space, mindless chatter to focus on, and reaffirmations that Neil wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t running away.

Neil knew they weren’t _fixing_ each other; they weren’t each other’s answers. But Neil knew that he was a better person with Andrew at his side, and he thought he could see Andrew’s jagged edges slowly grow duller as they fitted against Neil’s. They weren’t puzzle pieces made to connect, or two halves of one whole. They were Neil and Andrew, and they would make it work for as long as the other would let them.

* * *

**T** he brass bell above the door to _Walker Way With A Book_ had been replaced recently, and the chime was unfamiliar when Andrew stepped inside. Renee wasn’t serving anyone, so she smiled at the one other customer as she made her way over to Andrew’s favourite table. The past month had been a warm one, so she forewent the hot drinks in favour of a pitcher of iced tea she had likely made herself. Andrew eyed the wooden tray and rose gold handles with distaste.

“Has Allison taken over every inch of your life?” he asked.

Renee only smiled. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?” She set the jug down and poured the tea into hexagonal glasses. The ice ‘cubes’ were round, though last summer Renee only had the plain ice-cube tray she had found in her apartment, leftover from the previous tenant. “Allison found them in a local artisan’s shop.”

“The ‘local artisan’ probably bought them off Amazon.”

Renee hummed. “Then I’m sure the glass-blowing class we booked with them will be rather disappointing.”

Andrew didn’t reply, and Renee smiled at her win. She hid it with a sip of tea, feigning modesty when Andrew knew that she was as competitive as Neil’s friends. Their two lives had collided when the Muses had thrown Neil a leaving party the weekend he had finally left the Moriyamas. Andrew didn’t know whose strings Allison had pulled to get Nicky a marketing gig that ‘required’ him to pay a week’s visit to _The Foxhole Court,_ but it had been good to see his family in one place where he could keep an eye on them.

It had been entertaining to watch Aaron react to Neil’s spitfire personality, but less so to watch Renee being fawned over by the Muses. Andrew knew she was likable to busibodies, but it hurt a little to know that she would have less time to spend with him with the addition of more friends. He tried to ignore that twinge in his chest and the way his fingers tightened in misjudged protection. Bee had told him that it was normal for Andrew to feel protection over his friends, and understandable to feel jealous.

 _Normal and understandable,_ Andrew thought derisively. _Two words never used to describe me._

But he knew that it wasn’t healthy or fair on Renee. She deserved as many friends as she wanted, and if they were Neil’s friends, Andrew knew that they couldn’t be too awful. She hadn’t missed a single one of their two-member book club meetings, and every week she had another recommendation for both literature and tea blends.

“How is Neil?” Renee asked.

“Ask him yourself,” Andrew said, taking a sip of the tea. It was good, he supposed, though it could do with a little extra sugar.

“I will. I don’t think I will see him until your exhibition this weekend, though.”

Andrew hummed. Neil and his merry band of Muses had spent the last week preparing for their latest exhibition, and Neil had been working himself into a tizzy because the work on display would be Andrew’s.

It was his first exhibition since he started making work again. It had taken several months for Andrew to feel like himself again, but it was more than that; Andrew hadn’t ‘cured’ his art block and gone back to how he was before. He was better. His work was more interesting, more experimental, and he knew that part of that was because of Neil.

Neil wasn’t Andrew’s answer any more than Andrew was his, but it was undeniable that they were better people with each other in their lives.

The bell above the door rang its unfamiliar chime, and _speak of the devil and doth shall he appear._

Andrew glanced over Renee’s shoulder to see Neil standing in the doorway, his orange turtleneck showing underneath Andrew’s hooded sweater. Neil didn’t need to look for Andrew; he knew him well enough to know his favourite seat in Renee’s bookstore. Their eyes met and Neil broke out into a smile.

Andrew set the ridiculous glass down and said goodbye to Renee without waiting for an answer. She might have said something in reply, but Andrew wasn’t listening. He walked up to Neil and stopped a foot away from him.

“Home?” Neil asked.

There was no one else in the shop, and Neil’s back was blocking the doorway so no one outside could peer in. Andrew tucked his fingers into the collar of his hoodie and tugged Neil’s face down to his. He kissed him, softly, feeling Neil smile against his lips, and thought:

_Home._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> i did make a moodboard of my own, which can be found [here](https://wishbonetea.tumblr.com/post/616962073270861824/the-muse-behind-the-mask-neil-josten-is-the-muse)


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